The Prankster's Hero
by Random Equinox
Summary: There's more than one way to be a hero. Thankfully for Shepard, some of those ways don't involve risking your neck. Some of those ways are actually FUN.
1. The Battle to Keep Your Hair

**The Prankster's Hero**

_Author's Note: The following tale takes place during before Shepard bumbled his way through the attack on Elysium. In fact, it takes place while he was training in OCS. Readers may notice that I borrowed quite liberally from a couple shows. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Battle to Keep Your Hair<strong>

It was a wonderful day. Well, as wonderful as a day can be after being rudely woken up at 0500, going through an entire day of training drills, weapon handling, leadership exercises, combat sims, live-fire combat drills and mind-numbingly dull classes. Seriously, I wonder who in the Alliance thought it would be a bright idea to drum all the initiative and intelligence out of its recruits in Basic, then turn around and try to stuff it all back in for OCS. But what do I know? I'm just a dumb grunt enjoying dinner with the other guys and gals—

"What are you doing?!"

—until Happy Tang came along to ruin a perfectly good meal.

As one, we all swallowed, put our utensils down and stood to attention. Well, sat to attention. You know what I mean. A shadow loomed over our table—at least, it tried to. Hard to loom when you're only five foot four. Officially he was five foot five, but I knew better. You see, during my first week, I'd finagled access to the officer lockers. Every night, I'd swipe Tang's boots, break into the vehicle maintenance bay and run the boots through the sander. By the second week, I'd shaved an inch off the boots. The fact that I hadn't broken through the soles, and my ability to perform simple arithmetic, brought me to a very amusing conclusion.

But I digress.

We turned our heads towards one Sergeant Instructor Harold Tiberius Tang, self-styled pain-in-the-ass and official brass-appointed... well... actually, I'm not sure _what _his official job was. One day he'd be quartermaster; the next day drill instructor. He spent a couple days teaching classes, most of which wound up being a complete waste of time—especially when the _real _teachers he was substituting for had to play catch-up the following day correcting all the mistakes he'd made. None of us could figure it out. After much pondering and brainstorming, we bribed a fellow student—one of the female persuasion—to flirt and flatter the answer out of him. She later told us that he puffed his chest out, stood to his full five foot four/five, and proudly told her that his great-grandfather was one of the founding members of this happy little boot camp. Following his ancestor's advice, he was determined to learn as much as possible from each and every facet so as to better impart his wisdom and experience to future generations of students. As she shuddered and went off to the showers, loudly complaining that she needed a long, long soak, we wondered out loud if he was actually being serious. Personally, I thought the staff shuffled him around to spend as little time with him as possible.

Anyway, Happy Tang was glaring at us, his face twisted in a grimace that suggested he'd just swallowed a couple lemons. Situation normal, in other words. "What are you maggots doing?" he snapped.

...

...

...

"Eating?" a foolish idiot piped up at last.

Happy Tang glared at me. Did I mention I was the brilliant numbskull who'd opened his big fat mouth?

"Eating? _Eating?!_" he howled. _"_Elbows on the table, back hunched over, utensils at every angle _but _parallel to the table edges, napkins crumpled and stained with the food you smeared over your lips, crumbs on the table, food all mixed together instead of separated into their designated sections and... and... you! Did you put any vegetables at all on your plate? _That _is not eating! That is not proper. If any of the other races saw you, what would they think?"

They'd think humans had some really strange idiosyncrasies that they were still trying to shake off after several generations. "It'll only take a minute to fix all that," I tried again.

"A minute? A _minute_?" Happy Tang activated his omni-tool. A single command dimmed all the lights in the mess hall except for the ones over our table, all the better to shame us into seeing the error of our ways. A second command brought up a series of spreadsheets. I idly wondered where he'd found the time to generate them, when he seemed to spend a third of the time glaring at someone, another third yelling at someone and the rest of his time doing both. "A minute to correct that means a minute not spent eating. A minute not spent eating means a minute eating outside your break. A minute eating outside your break means a minute not spent working. Or learning. Or sleeping. And all of that adds up!" Happy Tang huffed.

We all stared at him blankly.

Happy Tang let out a long-suffering sigh. "You are not grunts anymore, ladies and gentlemen. You are leaders. Alliance leaders. Humanity's leaders. The vanguard of humanity, bringing our potential and promise and glory to the wider galaxy. To all its races, all of whom have been out there flying amongst the stars before we even started paddling water. We have a duty and responsibility to present the best humanity can offer. And _this_?! This will not cut it!

"Clean it up!" Happy Tang bellowed. "And don't think you get extra chow time to make up for this mess."

With a flourish, he tapped his omni-tool and restored all the lights. Then he stomped away, leaving us to take our elbows off the table, straighten our backs, re-align our utensils that were only a degree or two off, uncrumple the one napkin that was crumpled—none of them were stained, by the way—clean up the six or seven crumbs scattered across the table and separate the rice from the veggies, the veggies from the meat and the meat from the rice. That took us twenty-three seconds. Another fifteen seconds to transfer some (more) veggies to the lone guy who'd happened to eat all his veggies before Happy Tang descended. That left us twenty-two seconds to spare.

Twenty-two extra seconds to firm my resolve for this year's April Fool's Day prank.

* * *

><p>That resolve was only strengthened by Happy Tang's schedule tinkering, which we discovered the next day. When Happy Tang marched into the barracks and used his omni-tool to turn on all the lights and set off all the alarms—both the ones in our omni-tools and the one on the wall. I suppose the reaction would have been funnier if we had been watching it. Sadly, we were experiencing it, so... not so much with the funny.<p>

"Attention, maggots!"

Maggots? Seriously? Didn't we 'graduate' from that after Basic?

"The mess hall is being temporarily closed due to renovations."

Then where were we going to eat?

"Therefore, you will eat meals in Building A, room 1138, until further notice."

"There isn't enough room in there to fit everybody," a bright genius pointed out. That was me, by the way.

"Which is why I've arranged staggered meal breaks. You'll find the schedule in your omni-tools as of..." He paused to transmit the schedules from his omni-tool. "...right now. Hurry up and get dressed."

Happy Tang marched out, leaving the lights on and the alarms still blaring. I managed to turn mine off and opened up the schedule planner app in my omni-tool. Breakfast for me was... four hours from now? And I'd last eaten dinner six hours ago. Was that legal? Or physiologically possible?

Actually, it was. The last part, anyway. So the first part bears repeating: was that legal?

"This is ridiculous!" one of my bunkmate, Tony, complained. "He can't do that!"

I heard a groan above me. "Actually, he does have the authority to make those changes." There was a brief indentation as McGee plopped his head back on the pillows. "He's in the administration office this week."

"How did you find that out?" I wanted to know.

"Got a care package from my sister last week," McGee mumbled. "Tang was picking one up as well from his wife. He mentioned it to me. And the adjutant. And the janitor." He frowned. "Everyone in the building, come to think of it."

"He's drunk with power," I growled. "Has been ever since he got his new omni-tool."

"The Master Omni-tool," Tony nodded sagely. "One omni-tool to rule them all. Like the One Ring in the Lord of the Ring vids. I'm talking about the early 21st century trilogy directed by Peter Jackson, not the radio versions or the 1978 animated film directed by Ralph Bakshi. What a masterpiece that was. Sir Ian McKellen, Cate Blanchett, Viggo Mortensen, Elijah Wood, and how could I forget Liv Tyler? Oh, what a hot, succulent—"

"It was a book series first," I interrupted. Tony was the kind of guy you wanted to watch your back, take the initiative or pick out little details that a less observant man might have missed. Of course, that assumed you could overlook his promiscuity, occasional bouts of chauvinism, immature sense of humour and penchant for quoting obscure vids. The trick, I'd learned, was to know when to rein him in.

"It was?"

"_Anyway_," I emphasized, "something really has to be done about that."

"He could have an accident."

We all turned towards the door. Anna and Ziva were poking their heads in. "I'm just saying, I know a guy," Anna continued sweetly. "Very reasonable. His rates, I mean."

"And if not, I know eighteen different ways to kill him with _my_ omni-tool," Ziva offered.

Why was I not surprised to hear any of this? Anna's parents had signed her up with the Alliance with the hopes that it could weed out her rebellious and provocative tendencies and instill proper, respectful, traditional behaviour. All it seemed to do was teach her how to better mask her true nature. As for Ziva, she was as playful as she was lethal, which was saying something considering her combat skills and her willingness to use them. The only reason she hadn't been kicked out of the Alliance was that one: the Alliance needed her skills and two: she usually exhibited a high degree of professionalism. Most of the time. Some of the time.

"Way to think outside the box," Tony approved.

Why was I not surprised by Tony's response as well? It was starting to look like I had to be the voice of reason. That, if nothing else, should tell you how much trouble we were in. "Guys, come on," I sighed. "This sucks, I agree. But don't you think offing him is just a little extreme?"

"Oh, I see," Tony snickered. "You've already caved in. Given up. Thrown in the towel."

"Oh ye of little faith," I snorted, hoisting my sorry ass out of bed. "Haven't you learned by now?"

"He did dye your underpants neon green," Ziva agreed. "I did not realize you were a briefs boy, Tony."

"Briefs _man_," Tony corrected before turning to me. "I _knew _you were the one behind it."

"Traitor," I glared at Ziva. She shrugged.

"So you have a plan?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Depends," I replied, halfway into my fatigues. "McGee?"

Timothy McGee's the kind of guy you want to have as a friend. Quiet, dependable, friendly and could rival a quarian when it came to hacking through computer systems. He was a bit of a nerd, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, especially since he knew how to balance it out with real-life concerns. Besides, I found his nerdy tendencies kinda cool. And his mad computer skills even cooler. "Hacked into the OCS mainframe," McGee reached down and handed me an OSD. "Access codes to Tang's quarters. It's only good until zero-hundred hours tomorrow, though."

Pocketing the OSD with one hand, I waved McGee's concerns off with the other. "That's all the time I need."

"So what's the plan?" Anna asked.

I looked around the room to assess my potential conspirators. The usual list of suspects were all there, except—"Hey!" I frowned. "Where's Awesome?"

"Probably finishing off his extra exercises," McGee yawned.

"And hiding from you," Anna added.

Understandable on both counts. Devon, affectionately known as 'Captain Awesome' for his awesome proficiency in academics, physique, all-around fitness and everything else, was the only person who was going through OCS while finishing medical school. A devout—or crazy, depending on who you asked—fitness buff, he usually squeezed in an extra round of pumping iron and jogging. Very nice, very straightforward, very open—sometimes a little too open.

Which brought me to his only downside: his penchant to have lots and lots of sex. He was just as promiscuous as Tony, though he was a lot nicer about it. Don't get me wrong, he was a perfect gentleman. Treated his dates with the utmost of respect and care and attention—both in and out of bed. But he did tend to move from woman to woman (to woman). And while he wouldn't brag or exaggerate about his conquests, unlike Tony, he did tend to be very open and forthcoming with details. Unfortunately, his latest conquest happened to be the woman I'd grown up with and regarded as a surrogate sister. I may have been a little upset when I found that out.

"Yeah," Tony shuddered. "Is it true that you tied him up, left him dangling from the apple tree outside the weapons range and sniped random apples dangling around him until he swore to date Ellie and only Ellie until _she _broke things off?"

All right: make that very upset. "Well, we'd received a new shipment of sniper rifles," I shrugged. "It was as good an excuse as any to test them out. Thanks for letting me know they'd come in, Ziva," I added.

"Of course," Ziva nodded. "Was I correct about the weapon sights?"

"They were off centre," I confirmed. "Had to recalibrate them before going to see Devon. Wouldn't want to hit him."

"Mind you, had you hit him in a particular... area, your problems would be solved," Ziva pointed out.

All the guys winced. Yes, even me. "Tempting," I admitted. "I was saving that for a last resort measure."

"Ah."

Having settled that, I consulted the new staggered break schedule, courtesy of Happy Tang. "Plan's still on," I continued, "though we'll have to change the time. Anna, Ziva; you two start at the end of your dinner break. Everyone else, make sure you're outside Room 1138 at the start of your dinner break so you can gather around and make a scene."

"Sure you don't want to watch?" Anna asked with a naughty smile and a lascivious wink.

"Love to, but I have a job to do," I replied. "Burden of command and all that."

* * *

><p>For the umpteenth time, I checked my chronometer. 1659 hours. In one minute, Anna and Ziva would be having a catfight to end all catfights. Grinding and punches would be involved, if I knew Anna. Sultry stares and bruises would be involved, if I knew Ziva. Howling, hooting, catcalls, grunting and other vocalizations would be involved if I knew the other students. Red-faced fury would be involved, if I knew Happy Tang. He'd tear his hair out in frustration if he had any left.<p>

And where was I? Trying to set up a loop in the surveillance cams so they didn't record a recruit marching through the staff quarters. Which was kind of hard to do when your fingers were shaking from the cold. And the rain. And the howling winds. Why oh why didn't I get McGee to set this up for me?

Because I needed my head examined, I told myself, cursing as I screwed up and had to start from scratch. Come on, come on, come on... and... almost...

...YES! Loop set up. Now all I had to do was wait for the fighting to start and Happy Tang to find out. I checked the chronometer. 16:59:59.

17:00:00.

17:00:01.

17:00:02.

17:00:03.

17:00:04.

17:00:05.

17:00:06.

Hopefully he'd find out soon, before I had to use my numb, shaking digits to bypass the lock.

17:00:07.

17:00:08.

The doors burst open and Happy Tang came barging out, his usual not-so-happy grimace plastered on his face. I hopped down from the awning and walked through the doors before they hissed shut, vigorously rubbing my hands to get the circulation flowing once more.

I'd never been to Happy Tang's room, but I knew where it was. _Everyone _knew where it was. How it was on the fourth floor—which was a grave insult because four was an unlucky number and because it wasn't on the top floor, where a man of his stature and wisdom and importance should be billeted. How it wasn't a corner room—which was a grave insult because it didn't have a splendid view to greet him when he got out of bed after a long, rejuvenating night's sleep to inflict himself on all us lowly peons—his words, not mine. Except the 'inflict' part, of course. How the number of the room was a grave insult because it reminded him of how many people were before him on the waiting list to see the Consort.

Stopping outside room 469, I popped McGee's OSD into my omni-tool, loaded it up and sent the encoded ID signal. Sure enough, it worked. The doors hissed open and I sauntered in, wondering why the security protocols for individual bedrooms were harder to crack than the ones protecting the actual building. Making a bee-line for the computer, I pulled up a certain program and started downloading it from my omni-tool to the computer.

01%.

You see, the only way to stop Happy Tang from continuing his mad reign of power was to disable the One Omni-tool—oh geez, now Tony had _me _saying it. I could destroy it, but where's the fun in that? (Plus, the superiors might get a bit peeved. They were still searching for the man responsible for 'defacing' the statue outside the grounds. Thankfully they had restricted their search to OCS students who were present at the time. I hadn't started OCS yet, so they didn't think to look at me. Personally, I think the whole thing was blown out of proportion. I didn't 'deface' it, after all. Not really. I just took down the Alliance flag from the flagpole and wrapped it around the statue. Like a diaper. That's all.)

10%.

But I digress.

I had a plan to deal with Happy Tang and his Master Omni-tool, but I needed to download a customized update patch to his computer first. Ideally, I'd download some protocol or algorithm to his omni-tool directly. Unfortunately, Happy Tang carried it around at all times—like everyone else—so that was out of the question. Remote hacking on a mobile device like the omni-tool was theoretically possible but tricky, given all the other omni-tools and drones floating around any given area. Without the ID code assigned to Happy Tang's omni-tool, I'd have to blindly search through all the signals, which would increase the chances of getting caught exponentially. Mind you, McGee could probably have done it, but I couldn't ask that of him. I'd already had to do a lot of begging for him to get the codes to Happy Tang's quarters.

26%.

Thankfully, I knew two things about Happy Tang. One, he followed Alliance protocol when it came to electronic security, which dictated changing the access codes on personal items like an omni-tool every month. Two, he was too lazy to think up access codes for himself, choosing to let an Alliance randomizer program on his computer generate one for him. All I had to do was get access to his computer, tweak the program to generate a not-so-random code and I'd have complete remote control of his omni-tool.

42%.

Of course, that would all be moot if I got caught. Students were not supposed to be in the staff quarters. The administration said it was to provide some distance between the teaching staff and the students. I said it was because there were a few, quietly-hushed-up, times in the history of this glorious institution where various staff were caught having next-to-no distance whatsoever between them and the students.

59%.

My head jerked up. What was that? It sounded like footsteps. Oh, wait. That was thunder. I hazarded a quick peek out the window. _Geez_, the rain was _pouring_! I was gonna get soaked for sure. And me without an umbrella. Or any biotic abilities to improvise one. Boy did I get the short end of the stick. On the other hand, I didn't have any eezo nodules that were causing crippling disabilities or ramping up the chances of cancer. Gotta look on the bright side, right?

63%.

Wait, what was that noise? Maybe the ventilation systems were on the fritz again. Or maybe someone was walking around outside. What if they came in? I checked the progress of the download.

65%.

Oh come on! You've gotta be kidding me! Why won't this thing go any fast—what was that? Sounded like footsteps. Definitely footsteps... footsteps stopping outside the door? Yep, the footsteps had stopped all right. And there were voices talking. To each other, not in my head.

Aw, crap.

I looked hurriedly around, then ducked underneath the desk. As I crouched down, I accidentally knocked over a datapad. Thankfully, I managed to grab it before it clattered down on the ground. My thumb accidentally hit the power tab and turned it on. Looked like Happy Tang was...

...looking at hair regeneration genetic mods?

Only two hundred credits per month for eighteen months?

Reverse your premature balding or your money back?

And there were a lot of transactions and customer service e-mails as well!

I quickly copied the contents to my omni-tool. This was just too good to pass up. Reaching up, I carefully put the datapad back. Then I craned my neck around the desk. Voices were gone. Footsteps were dying away. I looked at the download rate.

87%.

I let out a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was sit back, bask in the glow from the computer monitor and listen to all that was trickling and pouring and gushing...

Aw, crap. Now I had to go take a leak. I peeked at the download rate.

88%.

This was gonna take a while.

* * *

><p>Supposedly, it only took another three minutes to finish the download. Felt like three hours. Running through the pouring rain felt like another three hours. Finally relieving myself felt like—<p>

Actually, you don't really need to know that.

I stumbled into the main lecture hall, shaking like a leaf in the wind. A stream of rainwater trailed out behind me. How I was going to make it to room 1138 without anyone wondering—

"What happened?"

Awesome was gaping at me. "I got wet," I shrugged.

"No kidding," he agreed. "Here."

He handed me a spare set of clothes. "Tony filled me in," he shrugged when I shot him a questioning glance. "He figured there was one small detail you'd overlooked."

"Thanks," I said at last. I started to duck into a nearby classroom to change.

"Dude?"

"Yeah?" I said, turning back.

"We cool? About, well, you know."

I considered that for a second. Only a second—I was still cold and dripping wet, after all. "You remember what I said."

"Yeah."

"Then we're cool."

"Awesome. Hey, did you finish... you know?"

I nodded. "Yep."

Awesome beamed. _"Awesome!_ Lookin' forward to it, man._"_ With that, he headed off. I went into the classroom, changed clothes and went off to dinner, dumping the wet clothes in a convenient locker along the way.

"Done?" McGee asked as I slipped into my seat. He passed me my meal tray.

"Done," I confirmed, staring at its contents: imitation lasagna and vat-grown greens. Yum.

"Done," Tony announced, handing me an OSD. "Vid of the catfight," he explained. "High-def, of course."

I looked at him curiously. "Didn't Ziva threaten to cut off 'Junior' if you ever did something like that again?"

"That's why I gave it to you."

"Thanks," I grumbled sourly.

"Don't mention it."

Shaking my head, I pocketed the OSD. I had just started to force down what could generously be called dinner when I heard a beep. Putting down the fork, I activated my omni-tool. "Huh," I said with a startling degree of wit.

"What?" Anna piped up, peeking over my left shoulder. Apparently she had gotten out of whatever punishment or discipline had been handed down to her.

She wasn't the only one. "Good news?" Ziva asked, peeking over my right shoulder.

Tony gave me a look of envy. Don't know why. He'd been getting laid every other night since he got here. Except for last weekend, when he blew a chance to get a threesome by boring the women in question to tears with his comparisons to similar scenes from vids such as 'Species 2'.

"Tang changed his access codes early," I announced. "I have access."

"Well?" McGee prompted.

"Hang on." I tapped a few commands. Looked like Tang was updating his itinerary for the next day at this very moment. "It seems that the great and illustrious Tang has been chosen for a last-minute substitute. He's going to be giving the CIC procedure and protocol lecture tomorrow."

"Isn't that the one that all the bigwigs are sitting in on?" Tony wanted to know.

"Yeah," I nodded, a smile spreading over my face. "Including Captain Mikhailovich and Rear Admiral Hackett.

"This is going to be fun."

* * *

><p>It took a while to get everything set up. Would've have needed nearly as much time if I just set up a remote connection between my omni-tool and Happy Tang's, but that ran the risk of being detected. Setting up a series of events that would trigger when Happy Tang keyed for certain functions took a lot more work and meant I wouldn't have as much control over what would happen, but it was a lot safer.<p>

Unfortunately, it took most of the night to finish. So I was double-fisting cups of coffee when I stumbled into the lecture hall. Awesome raised an eyebrow when I bumped into him. "Dude: you do not look awesome."

I grunted.

"Busy getting a surprise ready for Tang?"

Another grunt.

"Coffee clearly hasn't kicked in yet."

Yet another grunt.

"OK, I'll let you find a seat, man. Hopefully you'll wake up by the time Tang starts."

"Yeah," I managed at last. Progress, I guess.

Somehow, I found a seat. A loud buzz filled the air as everyone was chatting about this and that. Emptying my second cup, I put it on the floor. When I got back up, I saw Tang strutting onto the stage. He tapped his omni-tool, presumably to activate the microphone function.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and tried again. Everyone winced as an ear-piercing shriek of static exploded over the speakers. The students who were in the know turned and glared at me. I shrugged sheepishly. I didn't realize the volume settings would be _that _high. Still, Tang was clearly starting to get flustered, which meant the prank was going along swimmingly so far.

Tang's next step was to dim the lights. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they complied. I kept my eyes on him, though, so I saw his mouth drop when the lights abruptly started flashing again in a pattern reminiscent of that old twentieth-century disco genre. A pounding beat started thumping through the hall. It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud as a man's voice sang out from the speakers: _"I'm too sexy for my hair... too sexy for my hair... that's why it isn't there..."_

Not having my forewarning or self-control, the majority of the audience burst out into laughter. Mostly students, but a couple teachers succumbed as well. I was grinning from ear to ear by this point.

Tang's face was bright red by this point. I hadn't seen it this red since the last time he looked ready to explode—which would probably be a couple days ago, come to think of it. His eyes were darting around the audience, trying to figure out which one of us had humiliated him in his moment of glory. Good thing I'd told everyone _not _to offer any signs of congratulations whatsoever.

Eventually, the din died down. Tang tried to dim the lights again. They dimmed obediently before suddenly brightening. The next minute Tang spent frantically whacking away at his omni-tool, hoping percussive maintenance would help fix his suddenly uncooperative Master Omni-tool, was both unscripted and hilarious.

At last, the lights dimmed down. Tang pulled up the presentation. The first image showed a standard CIC, with the words "Combat Information Centre Procedures and Protocols" superimposed over it. "Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests," Tang began. "It is my honour and privilege to..."

He was interrupted by all the snorts and chortling that was rippling through the audience, mostly due to the e-mail that had suddenly popped up:

_From: MarsGene_

_Dear Sergeant Tang,_

_Thank you for your interest in our hair restoration genetic mods. As the designated supplier for the Alliance's enhancement programs, we believe that you need the best weapons available to fight and win your battles. And no battle can be more important than the battle to keep your hair! _

_Our genetic mods boast a 95% success rate in—_

While Tang managed to close the e-mail before any of us could finish reading, the damage was already done. Every man and woman in the audience was laughing at him. Maybe with him. But mostly at him. "Um... yes... moving on. We—attention! ATTENTION!"

It took a couple minutes for him to get our attention back. Eventually, though, the audience settled down. "Ahem. Yes. Well. Today we will present the current models on—"

"—_what happens when you double-cross your customers!"_

Tang abruptly blanched. I stifled a grin.

"_Sergeant Tang, please calm down," _a female voice soothed over the speakers._ "We—"_

"_Calm down? CALM DOWN?" _Tang's recorded voice screeched._ "Do you know who you are talking to? I am Sergeant Harold Tiberius Tang! And I have been lied to! Betrayed by your false promises to the men and women who risk their lives every day to protect your rights and freedoms!"_

"_Sir, as I have tried to explain to you, our methods are designed to minimize the chances of rejection, but they still happen. You simply were unfortunate enough to fall within the 5% whose genetic code was incompatible with the hair restoration genetic modifications."_

"_Unfortunate? No, this isn't unfortunate. This is a _disaster_. You've crushed my hopes and dreams."_

"_Sergeant—"_

"_All I wanted was to be respected. To be recognized for my brilliance and wisdom. But that hasn't happened. No, I've received nothing but skepticism and ridicule. And do you know why?"_

"_Well—"_

"_Because I'm BALD! I was robbed of a thick, lush head of hair that could command respect and admiration. I was robbed of the hair I needed to attract throngs of hot, sexy women. I was robbed of the hair I needed to be taken seriously. Why won't you take me seriously? Why won't anybody take seriously? WHY?!"_

"_Uh..."_

I don't know whether Happy Tang was drunk or high when he contacted MarsGene Customer Support. For all I knew, he actually believed every word he said. All I know for sure was that—

"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

—that Tang had finally snapped and was running offstage. I'd like to say the audience saw his departure and sympathized. Actually, no I wouldn't. I was pleased to see that everyone was too busy howling with laughter—yes, even Captain Mikahilovich and Rear Admiral Hackett. Some of the students had even fallen out of their seats and were rolling on the floor.

"Nice job!" Tony complimented me, pounding me on the back.

"That was awesome," Awesome agreed, laughing away.

"Guess all those hours of hacking paid off," McGee grinned.

"Couldn't have happened to a better douche," Anna approved.

Ziva just gave me an approving nod before slapping Tony on the back of the head. "Hey!" he protested. "What was that for?"

"That," she hissed, "was for recording our distraction last night. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Don't look at me," I shrugged when Tony glared at me. "I didn't even open it. Here you go, by the way," I added, passing over the OSD.

"Thank you," Ziva said sweetly before putting Tony in a headlock.

"Yeah. Thanks," Tony managed.

"Don't mention it," I replied cheerfully.


	2. Makos, Mechs and Other Hazards

**The Prankster's Hero**

_Author's Note: The events of this chapter takes place during the end of Shepard's time at OCS, but before he went to the Interplanetary Combatives Academy and got the training that earned him his N7 rank. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Makos, Mechs and Other Hazards<strong>

It was a beautiful day. Brilliant clear blue skies as far as the eye could see. Just a touch of cloud, enough to add that picturesque something. The trees were sporting lush, rich foliage. The flowers were in bloom. Everyone was out enjoying the amazing weather on the day before Graduation Day at OCS…

…except me. I was stuck crawling through the ventilation shafts. Dirty, dusty, full of cob… webs…

"ACHOO!"

Did I mention it was dusty?

Worst part was that I was doing this on my own free time, because I just couldn't let it go.

Let what go, you ask? Well you see, there were a couple bigwigs coming to the graduation ceremony to give speeches and so on. Pat us on the back, say we made a great career choice, how we're really gonna make a difference, ya-de-ya-de-ya-da. One of those guys was Captain Hammer. Yes, he looked as goofy and stupid as his name sounded. Basically a scientist and engineer, even if he did walk around in an Alliance Navy uniform. He was coming to give a talk. And show off something. Something that Hammer had shipped to us before his arrival tomorrow. It was sitting in our general storage warehouse right now. The one right next to my barracks... which happened to share the same ventilation duct system.

What was Hammer going to present? No clue. Instructors weren't saying. A surprise, they said.

I hate surprises.

Last surprise I got came while I was still in Basic. Couple guys wanted to hang out. What were we doing? I asked. It's a surprise, they said. Turned out their idea of hanging out involved getting wasted. Knowing what was happening the next day, I wound up pouring the alcohol down the sink when they weren't looking. Little did I know that each of them had a hip flask full of ryncol. Yeah. That krogan booze. Another surprise.

As a result, I got to lead a fire-team of plastered, hungover idiots into our field combat midterms. The only bright side was that I never really liked any of them, so I used them as bait to lure the members of the other fire-team into a trap. Thankfully, they were so drunk they never figured out how I used them, so there was no retribution. Still, that was _way _too much work and stress for my liking.

Not to mention the fact that I barely passed that midterm. Turns out that instructors—and soldiers—don't like the idea of team leaders being so cavalier with the lives of the men and women under their command. Fair enough. I wouldn't like it either. But I wouldn't have had to make that choice if my so-called team members hadn't sprung the surprise of getting drunk on me in the first place.

Never again, I vowed. Never. Again.

Couple my distaste for surprises with an unhealthy amount of curiosity and you get a stupid OCS student crawling through the dirty, dusty, cobweb-filled and very dark ventilation shafts. The only thing that could make it worse was if I was claustrophobic. Which, thankfully, I was not.

The only thing that could make it worth it was finding out what the big surprise was. I moved forward and…

…wait. What was that buzzing noise.

I quickly ran through everything I'd done before crawling into the ducts. Hacking into the surveillance systems: check. Setting up a loop in the vid-cam footage: check. Double-checking the guard routines: check. Disabling all motion sensors: check. Disabling the mass effect field detectors: check—even if I'm not a biotic, some of the tech I was carrying did generate miniature mass effect fields. Disabling the infra-red laser grid…

…

…nuts. It's always the low-tech stuff you forget.

Thankfully, I had a trick for that. And I already had my goggles on—handy for keeping the cobwebs and dust out of your eyes. A couple eye blinks later and I'd set them to scan in the infra-red spectrum. Sure enough, several red beams of light materialized right in front of me. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to impede my progress.

Wriggling and squirming, I dug out a little gadget of mine. Basic sniper scope with a computer microframe containing a simple shutdown program I had McGee and Anna code once upon a time. That program, transmitted via the laser sight, was designed to shut down the actual emitters of a sensor while tricking it into thinking it was still functioning.

At least, that was the idea. I'd tested it on a vid-cam or two in the dormitories, but this would be the first time I used it in the field. Here goes nothing: I aimed it at the emitter of the closest laser beam and pressed the trigger. A red beam of my own shot out and hit the emitter. The emitter flickered for a nanosecond before shutting down, taking its potentially embarrassing laser beam with it.

Phew.

Repeating that little trick again—and again and again—I managed to disable the laser grid and make my way through the duct.

Did I mention it was dusty?

Anyway. Back to the duct. Take a left turn here. Slight dip downwards over there. Another left… yet another left… down—

"Whoa. Whoa! WhaAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGG GHHHHHHHHHHH—oof! Ow!"

That might have been a little more down than I'd wanted. But it's okay. I was alone. I'd disabled all recording systems. No evidence. Other than the bruises that might or might not show tomorrow.

And my pride—wait. That went the way of the dodo bird. Never mind.

Right. I was in. Time to find out what the big surprise was. Or surprises. There were a lot of them. Dozens at least. All in small crates with a volume of… about two cubic metres? Something like that. And each of them had a lock on it. Not that that signified their importance in any way: every other crate had some kind of encryption system or digital lock on it.

There was a datapad lying next to one of the crates. I picked it up and thumbed the activation switch. Looked like a... wait...

...

You gotta be kidding me.

Hopefully I'd spontaneously developed a bad case of dyslexia. The only way to know for sure, though, was to open the crates. Well, at least open one of them. I could use the old trick of smearing omni-gel on it until it gave up the ghost, but I preferred to save that stuff for an emergency. Waste not, want not and so on.

So I played the hacking game. Wait for an opening in the first line of encryption and… slip in. Wait for an opening in the next line of encryption and hope it came before the counter-intrusion software kicked in… okay, two down two to go…. Come on, come on, come _on_… oh, geez, watchdogs are coming… okay. Back up, back up to the first line of encryption. It's okay, it's okay, it's not a surrender. Tactical retreat, remember? Just wait for it… go! Back into the second line of encryption, quick, go, go, gogogogogogogo—yes! Made it to the third line! Just have to penetrate the last line of encryption. More countermeasures on the way. That's fine, that's fine, I see a packet of code I can hide behind. Just keep my distance, keep my distance, bide my time… and…

Did it! Booyah! Who's your momma?! That's right! Yours truly…

…

Oh God. I sound like Tony. Next thing you know, I'll be linking every other thing to some old vid and… where was I? Oh yeah. What's in the crate. I grabbed the latch, opened up the crate and…

…

Oh for crying out loud.

* * *

><p>"Mechs?" Awesome said in disbelief.<p>

It was chow time. We'd congregated at the usual table, where I filled them in on my discovery. "Mechs," I nodded.

"You're sure?" Ziva asked.

I tapped my omni-tool and pulled up the pics I took.

"He's sure," McGee confirmed. "I recognize those from an article in Galactic Mechanics. LOKI-class mechs. Hahne-Kedar's been producing them for a while now. They're designed for security and guard duty, either as a supplementary force or in situations where use of human guards is unpractical."

"How come we haven't heard of them before?" Tony wanted to know.

"Because they've been used mostly for colony guard duty," McGee shrugged. "Remote colonies."

"Well, that's going to change, if Captain Hammer has his way," I said darkly. Putting my fork down, I activated my omni-tool and pulled up the datapad report that was lying near one of the crates. "He wants to sign a long-term contract with Hahne-Kedar that would have mech fire-teams and security details posted on every Alliance ship, station and facility."

"Well that's a _terrible _idea," Tony complained. "Didn't he watch Judgement Day?"

There were a lot of blank stares.

"T2?"

More blank stares?

"Terminator?"

Now there were a chorus of "Ohs" and "Ah, rights". Tony had made us all watch some old twentieth-century vid called 'The Terminator' last week.

"All these mechs will be linked to some central VI, right? Well next thing you know, that VI will become an _AI_ like Skynet that'll take over and try to wipe out the human race. Judgment Day over the entire freaking galaxy. It'll make what happened to the quarians look like a skirmish!"

"We have to stop this," Anna said firmly.

Everyone was nodding—including me. Tony's vision might have been a little exaggerated, but the logic was sound and there was a certain precedent for putting too much control in the hands of machines. We had a decent balance at the moment between human oversight and VI assistance. What Hammer was suggesting might tip that balance too far. Something had to be done.

It was then that I realized everyone was looking at me. "Did I say that last part out loud?" I asked.

"Uh huh," said Anna.

"Mmouridgh," Tony managed, his mouth full of stew.

"Yep," Awesome confirmed, slapping me on the shoulder. "You're right, bro: something has to be done."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I agree."

...

Everyone was still looking at me.

...

Aw, crap. They were looking to me for leadership. "Why me?" I asked plaintively.

"Because you are our North Star," Ziva declared. "Our beacon of light to guide us when we're lost in the dark. That flaming torch to rally us to your side and fill us with courage when all seems lost."

"Really?" I asked skeptically.

Ziva snorted. "Well it is April Fool's Day tomorrow, so you probably have something planned anyway."

Damn it. I really have to stop being so darn predictable.

The sad thing was that I _had _done some thinking and planning. A lot, come to think of it. And everyone else knew it. "All right," I relented. "Here's the plan."

Everyone leaned forward as I laid it out. "Hammer's gonna be unveiling the mechs and his grand plan at the graduation ceremony, right? And he'll probably have some pre-programmed routine in place for all the mechs to follow. McGee, I need you to find and replace that routine. Tony, you'll be on lookout."

"Right," McGee nodded. Tony didn't look thrilled to be 'babysitting' McGee, but he also nodded. I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted to tackle the computer stuff. None of us would, come to think of it.

"Knowing Hammer, I wouldn't be surprised if he had some music lined up to accompany this big unveiling," I continued. "We'll replace that with something more... fitting. Anna, you're on point. Same plan as McGee: hack and replace."

"I'll have your back, Anna," Ziva volunteered.

"Great," I approved. "Awe—Devon, you'll be our mobile reserve. If anyone needs help or a distraction, you're up."

"Got it," Awesome said.

"Graduation ceremony's tomorrow morning," McGee reminded us. "That doesn't give us much time. We're talking an all-nighter here."

"For what?" Tony wanted to know. "We break in, we upload the program-whatsit for however long it takes, then we leave."

"We still have to write the code, Tony," Anna pointed out. "McGee's good. I'm better."

"Hey!"

"But it'll still take time," Anna said, continuing as if McGee hadn't said anything. "Even if we leave right now to start writing the code, by the time we get it in and upload the code, it'll be time for reveille."

"Don't worry," I sighed. "I might be able to buy you a little more time. You still won't get much sleep, but at least you'll have some breathing room."

"What do you have in mind?" Awesome asked.

I put down my fork. "The ship transporting Captain Hammer is touching down at 0500 tomorrow. I'm going to be picking him up... and giving him the scenic route to base."

* * *

><p>It's generally good practise to arrive early when meeting a superior officer. That goes double if you have something in the works. And when you have little in the way of reliable intel, well, you <em>really <em>want to arrive early.

So I did. By 0400, I was at the starport. By 0412, I confirmed that Hammer was on the next incoming transport and found out that he was going to be at least ten minutes late. By 0415, I learned which of the two garages Hammer would be directed to. By 0447, I scoped out the various routes from the docking bays to the garage. By 0455, I identified the most likely route. By 0501, I'd signed out a Mako to transport Captain Hammer.

By 0508, I had finished the safety checks—not something I normally do, but considering what I had in mind, it was worth going the extra mile. I had just stepped out of the Mako when—

"Ah! You must be the driver from OCS."

A man was marching towards me. Alliance dress uniform, but it wasn't Hammer. Not unless _Captain _Hammer had gotten a demotion, dyed his hair black and altered his skin tone to a deep chocolate hue. "Yes," I said slowly. "And you are..."

"Lieutenant Commander David Anderson," he introduced himself.

Oh. Right. I stood to attention and raised my hand to salute him. "Sir."

"At ease," he smiled, returning my salute. "Your turn."

"Operations Chief Charles Shepard, sir," I replied, automatically falling to parade rest

"Take it easy, son," he laughed, his voice warm and soothing. "Really. You'll have plenty of saluting to do today. No need to pull a muscle."

"Thank you, sir," I nodded, forcing myself to approximate something close to a relaxed pose. "Are you here for the graduation ceremony?"

"I am," he nodded. "I'm hitching a ride with Captain Hammer, in fact."

Aw, crap.

This could be a problem. I'd only met this Anderson guy for a minute. Less than a minute, actually. But he seemed like a nice guy. As a rule, I try to make sure that only the intended prank victim gets pranked—or swept up in the prelude to the prank. Even if it was something as simple as a longer-than-usual drive from the starport to OCS, I didn't want Anderson to get swept up. But how to get him away?

Aha! I mentally patted myself on the back for arriving early and doing all that intel. "Um, yes sir. Glad I caught you, sir. You see, there's been a mixup."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're supposed to go to the other garage. I was sent to redirect you."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "And we couldn't get that information through the local VI because..."

"It's been on the fritz," I lied. "Can't quite pin it down. Graduation Day is stressful enough as it is. I guess the instructors just didn't want to take any chances. Better to send an extra body or two then depend on an unreliable VI, right?"

"Makes sense," Anderson conceded. "The other garage is on the far end of the starport, isn't it?"

"That's right," I nodded. "Just go out the door, take a right into Building One, take another right and go down the corridor. Turn left to take the pedestrian overpass to Building Two—it's before Terminal 38. There are lots of signs, so you shouldn't miss it. From there you go to the nearest elevator and take it all the way down to the bottom level. That's the other garage."

"Out the door, right into Building A, another right, straight down, turn left before Terminal 38, find the elevator and go to the bottommost level," Anderson summarized. "Got it."

He turned to leave. I mentally wiped a drop of sweat off my brow.

"Come to think of it..."

Uh oh.

Anderson turned back. "Isn't it faster just to go out the door and head straight to Building Two?"

Crap. Looks like Anderson still remembered something from _his _time at OCS. Whenever that was. "It is," I said. "But you risk running into a lot of traffic from flight and maintenance crews."

"True," Anderson chuckled. "God knows they have enough on their plates. They don't have time to shoo me out of the way before I gets crushed by a landing starship. Or waste time saluting me instead of doing their job."

Wow. An officer who actually gets it. What were the odds?

"Yeah," I nodded. "Besides, the route you suggested would mean you enter Building Two on the ground floor. Trying to find the elevator there isn't easy."

That was another lie. I had no idea whether it was easier or harder. The only thing I _did _know was that the starport official I'd talked to earlier had told me that they'd be escorting Hammer straight from the starport to this garage. If Anderson took the more direct route that he'd suggested, there was a very high chance that he'd bump into Hammer and my whole story would blow up in my face.

Thankfully, he seemed inclined to follow my 'advice' rather than risk inconveniencing the starport employees. "All right then," he nodded. "I'll see you soon, then."

"Yes sir," I replied, automatically giving him a salute.

He saluted me back before leaving. As soon as he left, I checked my chronometer. 0510. Only two minutes had passed. Seemed longer, somehow.

* * *

><p>Hammer showed up at 0516. Didn't say anything about seeing Anderson. Mind you, he was so busy staring at himself and combing his hair—through a vid-screen on his omni-tool—that he could've walked right by him without noticing. Frankly, it was a miracle he even made it to the garage.<p>

As he approached, I saluted to attention. I kept the salute as he walked towards me. Twenty metres... ten metres... five... two...

I took one big step to the side, salute still firmly in place. Hammer walked right past me, still fussing over his appearance. If he kept his current pace, he'd hit the Mako in three... two... one...

"Oof!"

"Sir! Operations Chief Shepard reporting for duty, sir!"

"Help me up, damn it!"

Yeah. Those were the first words he said. Usually superior officers say something else. Something with 'at' and 'ease' put in. Like Anderson did. I turned around, grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet like a good non-commissioned officer. "Sir, I'm here to—"

"Get me to OCS, yeah, yeah. Let's get going."

Okey-dokey!

We got in, I started the engine and we got going. There was a tense silence—well, tense from my end, anyway—for about a minute before Hammer started talking. "You know what?"

"What?"

"For centuries, we've grown and stretched to every part of Earth. You know how we did that?"

"Umm..." came my brilliant response.

"Innovation, my friend," Hammer enthused. "Innovation. A burning, unquenchable desire to see what's out there and improve it! Make it bigger! Make it better!"

Damn it! Perfect opening for a size joke, and I had to let it go to waste because it came from a superior officer!

"That's how we got into space!" Hammer continued, clearly on a roll. "That's how we discovered the Mars Archive! That's how we discovered the mass effect relays! It was that inexorable need for change and progress that cemented our place in the galactic community!"

Really? I thought it was our unlocking and charging through every mass relay we could find until we bumped into the turians and kicked off the First Contact War. Apparently when you reach the rank of Captain, you're allowed to rewrite history. Guess you really do learn new things each and every day.

"Enriching it with our know-how! Our savvy! Our sheer, undeniable presence!"

Yeah... from what I'd seen and heard, the other species would agree that we had an 'undeniable presence.' Oddly enough, they seemed to have a different interpretation of that phrase.

"But we can't rest on our laurels. Oh, no, no, no! We wouldn't have made it this far if we just sat back and said 'Meh, that's good enough.' We wouldn't have had the social and economic impact that we have if we just shrugged and said 'Yeah that's close enough.' Good enough? Close enough? That doesn't cut it!"

If he said so.

"Maybe for the asari or the turians, but for humans? That kind of crap just won't fly."

Too bad there weren't any asari or turians attending the graduation ceremony. I'm sure they would have been _very_ interested to hear that they tolerated a great deal of crap.

"Never has. Never will! At your graduation ceremony, I am proud to present to you the... the new... uh... hey. Hey! You there!"

I think he was talking to me. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you sure we're heading the right way?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure," Hammer pressed.

"According to the GPS, yes we are, sir," I said. Taking one hand off the steering wheel—and noting how he tensed up for some odd reason—I pulled up the GPS readouts on the dashboard console. "See?"

"Oh. Okay."

Content for now, he settled back into the chair. Good thing I added an extra program into the Mako's computers. It wouldn't do anything big, mind you. Just a little tweak to the GPS systems that would steer us off track, slowly but surely. Emphasis on slowly—I may have also modified the speed controls to cut our top speed in half.

To my surprise, Hammer actually stopped talking. For almost ten minutes. It was 0525 when he reached over and started fiddling with the console. "Sir?"

"I was assured by my VI that the trip would only take eleven minutes. We should have seen OCS by now."

Aw, crap. Guess he was a little bit smarter than he looked.

"You sure this thing is working?"

"As far as I know," I shrugged. "I did the standard safety checks and followed the usual start-up sequence."

"That's good," Hammer approved. "Everyone needs to follow procedure. It's there for a reason, you know. If everyone does their own thing, ignoring the standardization that's been established after rigourous testing, we'll be in chaos."

So much for innovation, change and progress. I think he was on his high horse. I'd be more worried about that were it not for the fact that he seemed to be doing a pretty good job of rebooting the GPS.

"No uniformity means no accountability. No way to track what was done wrong—hey!"

Aw, crap. He fixed it.

"We've been going the wrong way this entire time!"

"We have?" I asked innocently.

"Look for yourself!"

"Well would you look at that," I said in mock surprise. "We _have _been going the wrong way. Time to fix that."

"Gah!"

Hammer jerked to the side and almost face-planted into the window as I took a hard left. "Don't worry, sir," I said cheerfully. "Now that the GPS is fixed, we'll get there in no time!"

I think he would have said something, but just as he opened his mouth, we went over a small bump. Since I was used to handling the Mako, I wasn't surprised when that bump propelled us a good couple metres into the air.

Hammer, apparently, was not, so his jaw was abruptly slammed shut when we landed. Rubbing his jaw, he stayed silent. Not something he was accustomed to, judging by the way his cheek was twitching. He kept opening his mouth, only to close it a second later. No doubt he was worried that he'd wind up repeating that earlier encounter. Eventually, his need to talk overcame his caution. "Um, shouldn't you be turning right soon?"

"Why?" I asked innocently.

"Because the road is turning right."

"Oh _that_. Yeah, going straight is faster."

"That means going up the mountain."

"Yes sir. The shortest route between two points is a straight line, sir!"

Which was true. The jig was up. Well, this part at least. Besides, just because I was currently locked on the shortest route didn't mean it was the fastest. Especially with mountains: the higher you climbed and the steeper the slope, the more the Mako would slow. Funny how physics work like that, huh?

Case in point: the Mako reached the mountain and, without hesitation, began to climb, just like The Little Mako That Could. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Hammer shot a glance at me before returning his gaze to the forward windows. He seemed very intent for some reason.

I think I can, I think I can...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hammer interrupt his focus to quickly look at me again. I ignored him and continued driving. If I could just make it to that peak, I could follow the ridge line to the peak.

I think I can...

Yep. Definitely slowing down.

I think I can...

Hammer's eyes were now bouncing between the windows and me like a ping-pong ball.

Okay, I had to concede defeat. I wouldn't be able to make it to the ridge before I ran out of momentum and the Mako started sliding back down. Thankfully, the ridge line dipped down a bit. If I hopped to the right, the extra momentum and the traction on the Mako's six tires should be able to get me up and over. I tapped the jump jets—

"Whoa!"

—scaring the indomitable Captain Hammer. We soared through the air before landing on solid rock again. The Mako had so much momentum, it actually rolled and rocked, the back four wheels lifting off the... well... off the side of the mountain. It briefly recovered before we hit the ridge line. The left side was a bit higher than the right, so the Mako suddenly tilted.

"Yeek!"

We came to a stop, precariously balanced on top of the world. Then we started to go down the mountain.

"Whoa! Whoa!"

Sideways. The Mako's tires stayed on the mountainside.

"WHOA!"

For a few seconds. Before going into free fall.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Oh. My. _God_.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

You'd think he'd never been in a Mako before.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAA—_OOF_!"

That would be the Mako hitting an outcrop on the mountainside. We spun around before the momentum took us off and into free fall again.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Yeesh, Hammer had one good set of vocal cords. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. He struck me as the kind of guy who'd be long-winded. That was bound to provide plenty of—oh, look at that. We were now upside down. And there was a plateau rapidly approaching. Better tap the jump jets before we wound up hitting the plateau roof first.

"—AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWHOOOOOOOOOA AAAAAAA—"

Oops. Too much jump jet. We spun a full 360, only to wind up falling roof first again. Shorter tap this time.

"—AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWHOOOOOOOOOA AAAAAAA—"

There we go.

"—AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH HH—_OOF!"_

We landed on the plateau, bouncing a few times before settling down into a nice drive...

"Hey! Stop! Stop! I'm giving you an order here, buddy!"

...until we drove off the plateau.

"STOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AA—"

Here we go again. At least we didn't have too far to go before we landed on the ground. Though I should probably avoid that protrusion there. It looked kinda bumpy. Another tap of the jump jets sent us flying safely over it.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

The Mako swept its nose up towards the sky before we landed.

"—AAAAAAAAAOOF!"

And bounced, swinging inexplicably swinging to the left.

"Guh!"

Another bounce whipped us around to the right. I jerked the wheel sharply to the left to get us back on track. "There we go," I said cheerfully. I rode the Mako as it bucked like one of those animatronic bronco things. "We just have to go over that hill and we'll hit OCS."

"Bleaugh!"

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

* * *

><p>"You got a what?"<p>

"A ban from driving any Alliance ground-based vehicles, pending a re-education course and driving examination," I bit out from gritted teeth. "Courtesy of a very colourful and _completely _unreasonable report from Captain Hammer."

Tony and McGee exchanged looks. "You know what that means," Tony said.

"The system works," McGee nodded.

Traitors.

"That's completely uncalled for," Ziva harrumphed.

"Thank you," I said loudly.

"You're welcome," Ziva replied.

I glared at the rest of my so-called friends. "At least someone gets it."

"That someone being the woman who got a ticket the other day for doing 160 in an 80 kilometre-per-hour zone?" Anna asked brightly.

"Not the entire time," I pointed out.

"Thank you," Ziva said to me.

"You're welcome."

We had to stop talking at that point. Actually, we shouldn't have been talking at all, considering we were in the midst of all the speechifying that kicked off the first part of the graduation ceremony. But the next speaker was... stumbling, I guess would be the best way to put it, to the podium. Oh look. It was my good friend Captain Hammer! Still looked kinda pale, for some reason. He took a deep breath, reached for the glass of water, took a sip, coughed, put the glass down and looked out at the (mostly) attentive audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "for centuries, we've grown and stretched to every part of Earth."

Wait a minute.

"You know how we did that?"

This sounded familiar.

"Innovation, my friends. Innovation."

Oh. My. God. This was the exact same speech he'd given during the first part of the drive!

"A burning, unquenchable desire to see what's out there and improve it! Make it bigger! Make it better! That's how we got into space! That's how we discovered the Mars Archive! That's how we discovered the mass effect relays! It was that inexorable need for change and progress that cemented our place in the galactic community! Enriching it with our know-how! Our savvy! Our sheer, undeniable presence!"

"Wow," Tony snickered. "And I thought the _last _speech was bad."

"But we can't rest on our laurels."

"We can't," Anna asked innocently.

"Oh, no, no, no! We wouldn't have made it this far if we just sat back and said 'Meh, that's good enough.' We wouldn't have had the social and economic impact that we have if we just shrugged and said 'Yeah that's close enough.'"

"Somebody hasn't been on the front lines for a while," McGee muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Good enough? Close enough? That doesn't cut it! Maybe for the asari or the turians, but for humans? That kind of crap just won't fly. Never has. Never will!"

"Is anyone recording this?" Ziva whispered.

"Yep," I whispered back, tapping my omni-tool.

"Today, I am proud to present to you the new face of the Systems Alliance military!" Hammer enthused as sections of the stage began to retract. "It is my privilege to present to you the wave of the future! Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present this new innovation: the LOKI mechs!"

The audience dutifully applauded as the mechs rose into position.

"These mechs usher in a new dawn for us all! With these loyal, hard-working mechs... we... uh... we will spearhead humanity's... progress and growth throughout... the... galaxy—what's going on?"

I guess his confusion was understandable. The lights had suddenly started changing colour, flashing and strobing in rhythm to the beat of the music that had suddenly started. Nice bit of initiative on Anna's part.

The mechs started moving around in circles, their arms waving about. Then they took a few steps forward, their hips gyrating in a fashion that would probably turn a few heads if they were flesh and blood.

"_My baby moves at midnight.  
>Goes right on till the dawn."<em>

They grabbed their—well, what would've been their crotch if they were anatomically correct—and waved it about before lifting their right hands and waving _that _about.

"_My woman takes me higher.  
>My woman keeps me warm."<em>

Now they had turned around, hands firmly planted on their... butts? I guess? And were wiggling that about. We turned to look at McGee.

"What?" he asked. "I didn't have anything to go on!"

"You didn't have... that's it," Tony said in disgust. "Next vid we watch is 'Saturday Night Fever.'"

"_What you doin' in the back? Aah!  
>What you doin' in the back? Aah!<br>You should be dancing, yeah!  
>Dancing, yeah!"<em>

At this point, they were doing a complex series of jumping jacks, running on the spot while facing sideways and waving their hands in the air. Did I mention they were doing this in perfect synchronicity?

I was pleased to see everyone bursting into laughter. More than one person were clutching their ribs. A couple of the less-restrained OCS students—and instructors—had collapsed on the floor and were rolling around.

As for Hammer, he was red as a brick. He kept frantically tapping at his omni-tool and looking back at the mechs, no doubt hoping that whatever command he'd just sent would have some effect. No luck—he was no match for the l33t skills of McGee and Anna. Anna and McGee. Whatever.

I felt a tap on my back. Turning around, I looked up...

...uh oh. It was Anderson.

He had a smile on his face, though. Maybe we'd be okay. "Hello, sir," I greeted him with a quick salute.

"Hello again," he said. "Your superiors gave you the wrong instructions, I'm afraid."

"Sir?"

"It seems that I went to the right garage after all. The starport didn't have any VI problems. Guess the intel your superiors had was out of date."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "I guess so, sir." He could be telling the truth. But the twinkle in my eye told me otherwise. The twinkle told me that Anderson had figured out what had happened. The wide grin stretching across his face told me that he wasn't about to report me. For which I was very grateful.

"'You Should Be Dancing'?" he asked.

I looked at him blankly.

"That song," he elaborated, motioning at the mechs—who were currently waving one hand over their heads as if swinging a lasso and firmly gripping their crotch with their other hand. Again. "'You Should be Dancing'? By the Bee Gees?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Good choice, son," he approved, breaking into laughter at last.

"Thank you, sir," I said. "Just doing my job, sir."


	3. The Little Butcher of Torfan

**The Prankster's Hero**

_Author's Note: __The events of this chapter take place after the Alliance assault on Torfan and before the events of Mass Effect 1 (as detailed in 'Accidental Hero of the Galaxy')._

**Chapter 3: ****The Little Butcher of Torfan**

When I first met David Anderson, he was a Lieutenant Commander, come to attend the graduation ceremony of my class at OCS. It seemed that I made an impression. Something about poking fun at a pompous windbag in front of a whole slew of newly-minted officers. Apparently that's the kind of thing that sets your resume apart from all the others. Not that I ever submitted anything to him, but still.

Since then, our paths had crossed now and again. Each time, I picked up something valuable from Anderson. He'd given me a two-hour face-to-face discussion on the merits of accepting an offer to undergo N7 training, when all I'd originally asked for was his two credits worth in an e-mail. There was that time where he provided several examples on when to crack the whip and when to be a little more lax with exerting one's authority—along with a well-thought-out rationale for each scenario. And then there were all those times where I had to do some op and whatever ship Anderson was serving on happened to be providing some kind of support.

"Shepard! What are you doing here?"

I just wish we could have found another reason to bump into each other. "Same reason you are," I replied, snapping to attention.

He returned my salute. "At ease, son."

"Can't, sir," I said with a straight face. "Haven't met my quota for pulling muscles."

Anderson got the reference—the first time we met, in case you forgot—and laughed. Not a polite laugh. A genuine, heartwarming laugh that was just shy of belly-shaking. "Do you know the Commander?"

"Not personally, no," I shook my head. "Though I don't think that matters. I've bumped into a few people who were invited. I don't think they wanted to be here."

I should explain.

We were here to attend the launching ceremony for the Alliance's newest dreadnought, the SSV Tai Shan, which had been assigned to one Commander Zhao. Notorious for his horrible temper, borderline megalomaniacal arrogance and alarmingly ambition. The only reason he was tolerated was that he was also a keen strategist, albeit an infamous one. His greatest accomplishment to date was his role at Torfan, when the Alliance launched a series of attacks against the various criminal bases stationed there in retaliation for the Skyllian Blitz. Zhao had pursued the batarians stationed there even after they ran, at the cost of many of the men and women under his command. While it was never conclusively proven, it was quite a coincidence that those people were the rawest and least experienced members of his unit.

Since then, Zhao had embraced the moniker that others had given him: The Butcher of Torfan. He parlayed that infamy and fear into a string of impressive accomplishments. Which led us to this meeting, here on Arcturus Station. "I heard that Zhao had to travel all the way back from the Verge."

"I heard the same thing," Anderson agreed. "What do you make of it?"

"On the surface, it makes sense. Arcturus Station has several drydocks, after all. Makes sense that they'd launch the Tai Shan on her shakedown cruise from here."

"But..."

"But scuttlebutt has it that Zhao might have been moving on to bigger things. He could've been promoted to Captain before cruising on the fast track to becoming one of the youngest Admirals in Alliance history. Which might have been a problem, given that he kinda has a temper and doesn't really understand the concept of diplomacy or tact. It's possible that he could embarrass the Alliance. But he's done enough to warrant some kind of promotion. So maybe he was offered his own command of the next Alliance dreadnought—both as a consolation prize and to short-circuit his career path before he causes an intergalactic crisis.

"If so, dragging him all the way back here—away from his men and women, where he was obviously in command—would reinforce the message that he's not the big shot he thinks he likes to think he is. That there are people out there who's kept an eye on him, noted his ambition, and don't completely approve of everything he's done."

Anderson nodded in approval. "That's what I'd thought," he confided. "Though I wouldn't say that out loud. Zhao has just as many supporters as detractors, he's _very _good at the political game and he's almost turian when it comes to responding to anyone who offends him.

Meaning he'd go after them and destroy them so thoroughly that they would never pose a threat or amount to anything ever again. I was about to reply when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. "Speak of the devil."

The Butcher of Torfan himself was walking down the corridor. Which gave me a perfect opportunity to see him in action as a commander.

Some commanders are just there to fill a slot. A placeholder. A temp. Maybe a manager. The kind of commander that was easy to ignore. They might be obeyed, maybe even respected, but there would never be any kind of real loyalty.

Other commanders were like Anderson. Charismatic, affable. You always knew when someone like Anderson was around because he just drew your attention like a magnet. He could inspire more than a need to serve. He could inspire loyalty, awe, devotion. A desire to give everything you had; to go above and beyond what was required.

Then there were people like Zhao. Ruthless. Ambitious. Caring only about themselves, not the crew or the ship. He drew attention because people wanted to know what he wanted, who had drawn his ire and how quickly they could get the hell out of his way. He inspired the nervous loyalty borne of fear and terror.

Case in point: the poor ensign who'd accidentally bumped into him. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could definitely see how she cringed, each time a direct response to the finger Zhao jabbed into her shoulder. She burst into tears and bolted as soon as he was done with her. Anderson and I exchanged a look. We didn't need to say a word.

Zhao walked in our general direction. He didn't adjust his course to intercept us, probably because the Great Commander Zhao would never do that. But he did slow down, just as he was passing us. Almost as if he'd missed us. "Anderson."

"Zhao," Anderson replied, somewhat curtly.

"What a pleasant surprise," Zhao said silkily. "I had no idea you were in the system."

Translation: we may have the same rank, but I didn't bother paying attention to your coming or going because you're so gosh-darned insignificant.

"Are you staying long?" Zhao inquired.

"Another day."

"Ah. Then you'll be able to attend the launch of the Alliance's latest Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought."

"Yes, I will. That's the Tai Shan, isn't it?"

Somehow, Zhao managed to control himself and not puff his chest out. He couldn't keep the smile off his face, though. "It is."

"I understand you've been granted command. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you. It's gratifying to know that the Alliance finally recognizes all my hard work. Perhaps one day it will do the same to you."

Translation: I'm the hotshot that everyone adores and you're still a nobody, even if you did somehow become a commander. Let me open up that wound and rub salt in it for you.

"One day," Anderson smiled politely. "Well, I won't keep you. You must be exhausted after your long trip, after all."

Zhao's smile slipped, ever so slightly.

"I'll want to arrive at the Tai Shan bright and early. Docking Bay 38, isn't it? I wouldn't want to be late and have to fight through the crowd."

The smile was definitely gone now. "Tomorrow then," Zhao hissed before walking away. He never did acknowledge me. How rude.

"I take it there won't be a crowd," I murmured.

"I'm afraid not," Anderson murmured back.

"And Zhao knows it?"

"Oh yes."

Hee.

"Though I notice you didn't point out to Zhao that the launching ceremony was set on April Fool's Day."

"No, I didn't."

We exchanged knowing looks.

"I should go," I said.

"Of course," Anderson replied. "I'm sure you have… things to do."

* * *

><p>Anderson was right, of course. I did have things to do.<p>

When most people think of dreadnoughts, military as well as civvie, they tend to think of firepower. Big, honking machines of destruction capable of inflicting over twice the damage of the nuke that hit Hiroshima during World War II with a single slug. The fact that said slug was typically in the twenty-kilogram range. Or maybe even the fact that those slugs were accelerated to about 1.3% of the speed of light, creating enough kinetic energy to cause that big explosion. There's a reason why the Treaty of Farixen limits how many dreadnoughts each Citadel race can build.

Most people also think of how big the dreadnoughts are: anywhere from 800 metres to a whole kilometre. Basically, to accelerate a dreadnought's weapons to the speeds required, you need a big gun. A _really _big gun. Which means you need a ship big enough to hold that gun. You can't just weld a dreadnought cannon to a shuttle and call it a day. So there's a certain ooh-and-aah factor involved when you see one of those babies.

What most people often forget is that a kilometre-long vessel has a ridiculously huge surface area, one that was originally the same colour as whatever alloys were used in the construction of the hull plating. To fly a dreadnought in, say, Alliance colours, you need to add paint. A lot of paint. Paint that was typically applied by drones. All I needed to do was find some other paint for to cover the Tai Shan and to reprogram the drones.

Turned out that getting the paint for my 'custom job' was pretty darn easy. All I had to do was hack a few inventory requests and 'accidentally' order the wrong lot numbers. When they arrived, whoever was responsible for shipping would curse at the mistake and order that the paint be returned. But that would take time. Until then, they'd be stored in one of Arcturus Station's cargo bays. The same cargo bay that the proper paint colours were stored.

Reprogramming the drones, though… that was slightly trickier. They might be glorified maintenance drones repurposed to do some painting, but they were still drones that were flying around an Alliance military starship. Which meant they were very, very closely monitored. No way I could hack them remotely. And I certainly couldn't wander by the Tai Shan to snatch the drones. There were a lot of eyes and ears—electronic and otherwise—set up in and around Docking Bay 38. Eyes and ears specifically set up to monitor the Tai Shan every second of every minute of every… well, you get the idea. Not to mention all the special patrols that had been set up.

The cargo bay where all the paint was being held was another matter entirely. The surveillance systems there were nothing more than the usual ones for a cargo bay in an Alliance installation. Same with the patrols. Same as usual. No reason to be on alert, aside from the usual concerns. And yes, no one thought it problematic that the dreadnought and the paint for said dreadnought were in two separate locations.

Of course, going to the trouble of sneaking into the cargo bay and reprogramming the drones would be all for naught if someone actually wandered _into _Docking Bay 38 and saw the Tai Shan while she—yes, I did say 'she'—was getting a custom paint job. So I had to tweak the scheduled patrol routines to make sure any guards stayed _outside _Docking Bay 38.

Which meant I had to make two stops: one to find a terminal to hack the patrol routines outside Docking Bay 38 and another to enter the cargo bay and hack the drones.

Of course, to do all that, I really needed a schematic of Arcturus Station. One more detailed than the bare-bones and overly sanitized version available to civvies. One that included things like alternate paths, ventilation ducts, maintenance hatches. Maybe even the occasional password or two, though that wasn't strictly necessary. I'm not greedy, after all.

Thankfully, I had a source.

That source was currently sitting across the table from me while we scarfed down our lunch at 'Cha Sieu.' If my admittedly sketchy Cantonese was accurate, that meant barbequed pork. Mmm... barbeque...

Apparently, it had just opened a couple months ago. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of establishment. Literally: someone had demolished a whole section for renovations and upgrades, never used up the whole space and let the remainder lie unused for years. Some enterprising civvie decided to ignore all the zoning regulations and procedures, made some installations and upgrades and turned it into a restaurant. Naturally someone protested. Naturally that protest got caught in the usual quagmire of bureaucracy.

Despite the name and the distinctly Chinese menu, it didn't really feel like a Chinese restaurant. Mostly because the entire staff was Caucasian. Maybe it should have been classified as fusion or something.

Still, the prices were cheap, the portions were huge and the food was very good—in a greasy, definitely unhealthy sort of way. Aw, screw it: I'd passed my last physical with flying colours—though I heard the word was still out on my psych eval. Besides, I had serious reservations about the nutritional content of the food they served at my last posting. This couldn't make things any worse.

"I swear, you should go pro," I insisted. "Start a blog or something on best bargain restaurants throughout the Alliance or something. Travel the galaxy and eat at all sorts of places on someone else's dime. Or credits."

"Tempting," Serviceman 1st Class Morgan Grimes conceded.

"It's gotta be better than your dream of being a Benihana chef."

"Yeah," Morgan said, "but I already have a very delicate balance set up between the important things in life and slacking off. It's a science, really. Or an art. Or both. Point is: adding something like that to the mix would screw it all up. You wouldn't want all that hard work to go to waste, would you?"

"Perish the thought," I declared. "Speaking of important stuff: did you get what I asked for?"

Morgan looked over his shoulder in an exaggerated motion. Then the other shoulder. I did my best not to do a face-palm. Don't get me wrong: Morgan's a great friend, but his flair on the dramatic could occasionally border on excessive. Too many vids, if you ask me. Thankfully, I only had to suffer a couple seconds of this charade before he discovered a newfound interest in the table. At least, that's what his exaggerated head-tilts and eye-stares told me. Taking the cue, I reached underneath the table and accepted the package he handed me.

"They're only partial schematics," Morgan apologized. "Security VIs would go bonkers if you tried to download the ins and outs of the entire station. But it covers this quarter of the station. Plus, I got a couple of the passwords you'll need."

"Thanks, Morgan," I said.

"No problem," Morgan grinned. "I just wish you could stay a little longer. I couldn't believe it when you contacted me and said you'd be in the neighbourhood. Some big ceremony or something, you said?"

"Launching ceremony for the Tai Shan," I confirmed.

"Didn't I hear Commander Zhao was offered command of her?"

"That's right."

Morgan scowled. "Did I ever tell you that I met the asshole before?"

"No." I was a bit surprised. Morgan's usually pretty easy-going. Zhao must've really honked him off.

"Happened almost a year ago. Zhao was still a lieutenant commander at the time. Came in one day and asked for a ton of medi-gel. We didn't have that much to spare. Sure, there was some extra, but we were saving that for a medical relief convoy that was due to leave the following week. So we said no.

"Next day, he's back. Seems he just got promoted. Now his request is an order. Guess that refugee camp's gonna have to go without that medi-gel they desperately needed. But hey, they suffered all this time, right? They can suffer a little longer!"

"Wow," I marvelled. "I knew Zhao was a ruthless bastard but... did he actually get away with that? Did he get the medi-gel?"

Morgan looked disgusted. "Yeah. Management decided to side with him."

"You're kidding," I sputtered.

"Wish I was."

"But... what about the refugees?"

"One of the privates was dating a sales rep for the Sirta Foundation. Once he told her, she talked to her superiors and convinced them to sell a new lot of medi-gel to the refugee camp at cost. Everything worked out in the end—no thanks to Zhao. Always wished there was something more I could've done."

"Technically, you were—"

"—just following orders," Morgan finished with me. "I know, I know. I... I just... that... doesn't really cut it."

This put me in a bit of a quandary. When I asked Morgan for his help, I'd been a little cagey on my reasons. Plausible deniability. But this wasn't been the first time I roped other people into one of my pranks. And the little bearded man was clearly troubled.

"What if I were to tell you that what you gave me would help get back at Zhao?"

Morgan looked confused. Then delighted. "I knew it! I _knew _you had a reason for those schematics. Give 'em back to me."

"What do you have in mind?" I asked as I handed back the OSD containing the schematics.

"Showing you a shortcut," Morgan grinned.

* * *

><p>The first stop would be inside Arcturus Station's Security Office: so that's where I went.<p>

Not through the front door, of course. That would be silly. And counterproductive. Which was why I was trying to mind my own business—and hoping everyone else did the same—while I climbed up a maintenance ladder in a side corridor. No one stopped me or asked what I was doing. Heck, no one even glanced in my direction. Just goes to show: if you act like you belong there and aren't doing anything suspicious, most people will just ignore you.

Even if you're bypassing the maintenance hatch because you forgot to bring any omni-gel and were too cheap to melt down your surplus weapons, equipment and upgrade mods. Well, no, that's not true. More like you're bypassing the maintenance hatch despite having a decent amount of omni-gel because you're too cheap to actually use it.

Once I opened the hatch, crawled down the maintenance tunnel and entered the Security Office, that's when things got interesting. Even though I was a member of the Alliance, I didn't really have any reason—or authorization—to be wandering around. Which meant I had to sneak around and avoid being caught by any vid-cams or Alliance personnel—because sneaking around would _definitely _look suspicious. I crept down a hallway and quickly peeked around the corner. The coast was clear. I just had to hug the right wall, manoeuvre around the crates that were inevitably stacked up here and there, and avoid the vid-cam as it panned up and down the corridor.

I made it to a door and got through just before the vid-cam might have caught me. Took a left, passed a wilting plant that someone had placed in an effort to brighten up the place, reached the corner and stuck my head out. Bad news: there was a pair of Alliance soldiers in the hallway. Good news: they were engrossed in a serious discussion of last night's biotiball game and there was a ventilation shaft a couple metres from the corner. I just had to crouch down, slide around the corner, pop open the grille and enter the shaft. And try not to sneeze at the dust.

According to what Morgan told me, I had to crawl through the shaft and take a left. I'd pass a couple grilles on my right, but I had to ignore them and look to my left. The first grille I saw would lead me to where I wanted to go.

So I followed Morgan's instructions. Sure enough, I wound up in Lt. Commander Penn's office.

I did a quick look around. Mostly to make sure that I was alone and hadn't stumbled on Penn taking a nap or something. But it was also a good opportunity to scope out the room. The ceiling and walls were grey, but a surprisingly warm tone. Navy blue floor... no, carpet. Someone had gone to the trouble to add a personal touch to this place. Not to mention expense: I couldn't imagine the Alliance springing to pay for these renovations. There was a bookshelf—full of datapads, though there was the occasional honest-to-gosh book. And a sofa, which looked well-used, judging by all the rumples.

Then I saw what I was looking for. The computer.

It was on a desk. _That _was standard-issue. So was the lamp. The small Alliance flag dangling from the side of the monitor was the only real personal touch. I nudged the chair aside—didn't want to sit down and risk leaving something behind, which I know is kinda funny considering I was probably leaving bits of DNA or something behind with every step I took but humour me—and began hacking the computer.

Only took me thirty seconds to break in. A minute or two to compose the e-mails containing 'updated security patrol patterns' and find everyone I wanted to send them to. Three minutes to re-read it and make sure the new patrols were correct.

Then I sent them off, swiped a few credits from a desk drawer that really shouldn't be left unlocked, crawled back through the ventilation shaft, snuck around the corner while the soldiers were still talking biotiball, went through the door, manoeuvred my way around the crates and the vid-cam and back into the maintenance tunnel.

This time, I only went halfway down the maintenance tunnel before taking a right. That detour led me into a large air shaft. One with very loud, very deafening fans. I went down the ladder as quickly as I could, then entered the ventilation shaft on my right and followed it all the way to the end. By the time I emerged into the corridor, my ears had recovered.

OK. Now I had to take a left—and quickly duck back because there's some guy standing right there talking to someone on his personal comm. Thankfully his back was turned. Of course, I had to wait for him to finish yakking away and resume walking. Once I was sure he wouldn't be turning back, I quickly ghosted around the corner, entered the appropriate password—thank you, Morgan—into the keypad beside the first door on the right and entered the room.

I made a beeline for yet another ventilation shaft, shoved the wastebasket out of the way and began crawling on my hands and knees again. Good thing I wasn't claustrophobic. Once again, my target was the first room on my left. Belonged to 1st Lieutenant Wagner, formerly Staff Lieutenant Wagner before he got busted for setting up one too many vid-cams in washrooms and private quarters and streaming the feeds to his computer. Not that that stopped him, of course.

It just meant he had to be a lot sneakier. Burst transmissions uploading files to random extranet sites. Only accessing those sites on random days and only for a short time. Using a lot of computer tricks and countermeasures to make sure he wouldn't get caught.

Just the sort of thing a guy like me could use to hack the vid-cams around a certain cargo bay.

After that, I logged onto the dodgy site of the day—still using Wagner's computer—and began downloading a bunch of files. I left the room with his computer still running. With the extranet browser still open and the files still downloading. I figured Arcturus Station's Cybersecurity Division would be on his ass sooner or later. Wagner might not be my primary target, but I had no compunction about shining a harsh light on his slimy little life.

Then I just made my way back to the side corridor where this whole adventure began. Now to get to the cargo bay.

I waited for an hour or so—long enough for all those security guards to read their e-mails and begin their revised patrols—before going down and entering another maintenance shaft. This one housed the power conduits that kept the lights on in this particular section. It's not as dangerous as it sounds, believe it or not. The conduits are shielded and insulated. And there's actually enough room to stand upright. Not entirely upright in my case because I'm a bit taller than regulation-standard, but as long as I didn't dangle from and swing along the conduits like some damn, dirty ape, I'd be okay.

Three lefts, a right, a left, a right, another left, another right, and one more left led me to a ladder. The ladder led me up to a door, which opened once I hacked the sucker. I'd barely taken a dozen steps before a kinetic barrier blocked my path. Thankfully, the controls were accessible via a computer console built into the wall. Commence hacking...

Twenty seconds later, the barrier went down. Go me.

No guards here, thanks to the e-mails I'd sent. Just a vid-cam that was laughably easy to avoid. A krogan could somersault through its blind spots. Not that I was complaining, mind you. I passed through a locker room. So many lockers. So much loot. It took all my willpower to resist my kleptomania. Eyes on the prize, Shepard. Eyes on the prize...

Having made it this far, the cargo bay doors were ridiculously easy to hack. Or maybe I was getting into the groove. All I knew was it took less than ten seconds.

Then I had to wait for the maintenance drones programmed to paint the Tai Shan.

The drones were in constant contact with each other. It was the only way to make sure they didn't waste time and paint going over some other drone's work. All I had to do was infect one of them with the virus I'd whipped up and that drone would spread the digital love to all the others.

And if Morgan's intel was right, a maintenance drone would be arriving in three...

...two...

...one...

...

God, I loved that little bearded man.

* * *

><p>It didn't take me long to find a couple drones to hack. Which was good.<p>

I managed to get out of there without tripping any alarms, running into anyone or otherwise getting caught. Which was great.

That left me with a whole lot of nothing to do for the rest of the day. Which absolutely, positively sucked.

Oh, I found a way to pass the time. Wandered around Arcturus Station. Checked my e-mail. Wandered around some more. Surfed the extranet. And surfed some more. And before I knew it, it was almost time to sleep.

My, how time flies when you're having fun.

Just as I was about to shut down my extranet browser, I got an alert. Someone was trying to contact me for a real-time vid-call. Over a military communication channel. Must be important. I hoped this wasn't serious. Like red alert, priority one emergency, drop what you're doing and run headlong into another crazy mission because you got your N7 badge and saved Elysium and are totally a hero and the universe definitely hates your guts serious.

Holding my breath, I reached out and accepted the comm request.

...

...

...

"_Helllllllloooooooooooooo? Chuuuuuuuuuuuck?"_

I blinked. "Ellie?"

"_How did Devon get into med school?"_

"Um..."

"_I mean he's smart and hot and everything but he's so totally unoriginal. Look at what he says all the time: awesome. Awesome to see you! Aced your exam? That's awesome. Ran a couple dozen kilometres today? Awesome. Speak ten languages? Awesome. Cooked an awesome meal? Awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome. You know what the problem with that is?"_

Wow. It has been a while since I faced a rapid-fire rant from my older sister. Well, older, surrogate, non-biologically-related, spiritual sister. "Well..."

"_It's entirely self-defeating! You know what I mean? If everything is awesome, then awesome by definition is simply mediocre!"_

"Have you told Awe—er, Devon that?"

"_I can't! He's pulling a double-shift tonight! By the time he's done, I'll be on shift! So we'll never get to talk! Or have awesome sex!"_

"ELLIE!" I yelled. "Really didn't need to know that."

"_Oh. Did I say that out loud?"_

"Uh: yeah."

"_Eek. Wow. Probably should stop talking now. Or using words. Which is a shame because words taste like peaches. All words. Which is odd, right? Because you'd think different words would taste like different things. Like when you're mad or angry then they'd taste like jalapeno peppers? Or when you're happy they'd taste like apples. Or if you're sick, then everything tastes like cherries. Or if you're sad, then they'd taste like... whatever you eat or drink when you wanna wallow. Right?"_

"Sure," I said slowly.

"_Okay. Sorry you had to listen to all that. I just had to vent. And I might've had a bit too much to drink. God, I'm gonna have such a hangover tomorrow." _

"It's fine, Ellie," I said. "Really. But maybe you should talk to Devon about this. Or write him a note."

"_Yeah, you're right."_

"We'll talk later, okay? When you're sober."

"_Probably a good idea."_

"I thought so."

"_Maybe the words will taste like something else."_

"Maybe."

"_Bye, Chuck."_

"Bye, Ellie."

Well.

That was random.

...

And it gave me a wonderful idea...

* * *

><p>Launching ceremonies are usually the same. The people in attendance are different, of course. The docking bay or starport can vary. The ship, needless to say, is always different.<p>

But there are a lot of common factors. Everyone's always in dress blues or formal civvie outfits. There are always a lot of speeches about how great the ship is, how great the CO is and what a great day this is for the Alliance. Each speech covering the same content, sometimes even using the same catchy phrases. The CO always repeats what everyone else said before, then thanks each and every person who helped him or her out along the way. And there's always coffee, tea, water and snacks. All free, which was good because that was the _real _reason why at least half of the audience actually bothered to show up.

This would be the first launching ceremony I attended that fell on April Fool's Day. And what better way to suffer through this formal crap than to prank someone? Now I've pranked my fair share of people. Some of them just for fun. Some because they'd earned it through their misdeeds. But few were as genuinely horrible and despicable as Zhao.

It was with that in mind that I donned the clothes I abhorred. There must be a special place in hell reserved for the genius who instituted the idea of a formal dress code. I didn't always think that way, mind you. It was a feeling that developed gradually, after way too many debriefings, ceremonies, lunches, parades, dinners, politicians, celebrities, celebutantes and a God-awful statue of yours truly.

But I digress. Today wasn't about me, after all.

I bumped into Morgan on the way over. "Well?" he asked.

"Done."

"No problems?"

"Nope. Thanks to you."

Morgan beamed as he rubbed his hands in glee. Then he grimaced as he tugged at his collar and scratched his neck. Guess I wasn't the only one who wasn't fond of formal dress uniforms. "Can't _wait _to see the look on Zhao's face!"

"Shh!" I cautioned.

"Yeah, yeah," he dismissed. "You know I can keep a secret."

"Really?"

"Name one time when—"

"N7 Code of Honour: Alliance at War. Final mission."

"Yeah, but that was—"

"N7 Code of Honour: Shanxi Ops. Opening cinematic."

"But that was the most amazing—"

"Easter egg at the end of the latest Batman reboot."

"But Bruce Wayne _finally _got together with—"

"Ellie's fifteenth birthday present."

"I thought she wouldn't want that. How was I supposed to know—"

"Ellie's fourteenth birthday present."

"Come on, Chuck. I said I was sorry."

"Ellie's—"

"All right, all right, all right. Geez! I thought we would never speak of that ever again!"

"Shepard!"

"Sir!"

"Oh, thank God!"

Morgan was saved by Anderson's arrival. I quickly made introductions. Within a few minutes, they were merrily chatting away. Not that I was surprised: they were both sociable people. The more they got to know each other, the less attention they would pay to me as I hacked my way into the station comm systems.

I finished just before Commander Zhao—also known as Zhao the Legend, Zhao the Conquerer, Zhao the Batarian Slayer, Zhao the Invincible, Zhao the Butcher of Torfan and Zhao, God's Gift to the Systems Alliance, Humanity and the Galaxy—arrived. Along with various other officers and REMFs and dignitaries.

This would be the point where lots of boring, repetitive and utterly predictable speeches would be made. All in the cargo bay, so we could use the Tai Shan as a backdrop. So we dutifully shuffled inside.

Or tried to. There was a sudden bottleneck. Followed by the odd choked sound. Eventually I made my way into the cargo bay and looked upon my handiwork.

It has been said on many occasions that Zhao acted the way he did because he was compensating for something. I have my doubts about that, if only because inadequacy alone couldn't possibly explain the sheer amount of arrogance, bullying, ego and venom that exuded from his every pore and spat out of his big, sneering mouth. But I'd always kept it in the back of my mind.

It has also been said, on several more occasions, that dreadnoughts bring a certain... image to mind. They're very big. And long. And thick. And fire things out one end at very fast speeds. Do I _really _need to spell it out? I hope not. Because it's not something you can forget. I certainly couldn't, even though I tried really, really hard to keep in the darkest recesses of my mind.

So it was with that in mind that I renamed the Alliance's latest dreadnought from one of Earth's mountains—the traditional nomenclature for naming ships of that size—to _The Little Zhao_.

And just in case the association might have slipped anyone's mind, I repainted it pink. A certain shade of pink. 'Nuf said, I think.

Well, except for this: sometimes, I think I really do outdo myself.

The number of snorts, choked sounds and silent quivering shakes was increasing exponentially. Sorta like the pace at which Zhao's face was turning red. It would just take one more thing, a catalyst if you will, to set everyone off.

"_Everything is awesome!  
>Everything is cool when you're part of a team!<br>Everything is awesome!  
>When we're living your dream!"<em>

I had to remind myself to drop my mouth along with everyone else as the obnoxious, bubbly, sugary-happy and undeniably catchy pop music burst out over the PA system. Just pretend to be like everyone else, Shepard...

"_Everything is better when we stick together.  
>Side by side, you and I gonna win forever, let's party forever.<br>We're the same, I'm like you, you're like me, we're all working in harmony."_

As if on cue, we all turned to look at Zhao. He was so furious, he was practically vibrating. And his face... well, I'd be lying if I said I had seen one redder than the one I saw right now. I wish I could take a picture with my omni-tool, but that would give it away. Note to self: hack the station's vid-cams.

"_Everything is awesome!  
>Everything is cool when you're part of a—"<em>

And that was when everyone lost it. The repainted and renamed Tai Shan, which explained so much about Zhao. The music, which was the complete antithesis of everything Zhao stood for. It was just too much. So we all burst into laughter. Loud, over-the-top, belly-shaking, tears-streaming-down-face laughter.

Well, except for Zhao, who was too busy storming out of the cargo bay. But he didn't count.

"Shepard," Anderson gasped when he finally got a hold of yourself. "Where... how..."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I managed.

Any further denials were interrupted when Morgan collapsed to the ground, howling with laughter. He took me out on the way down. I probably got a concussion.

It was all totally worth it.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Yes, this is 'Everything is Awesome' by Tegan and Sara (featuring The Lonely Island), from The Lego Movie: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. I just had to put to this at the end.<em>


	4. It's About What They Need

_Author's Note: __The events of this chapter take place shortly after the Skyllian Blitz._

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 4: It's About <strong>**What They Need**

You know, it's been a couple weeks since I'd first set foot on Elysium. Let me tell you, it's just as beautiful as all the ads say. Amazing landscapes. Green vistas stretching as far as the eye could see. Great people—well, the locals, anyway. Some of the recent tourists, not so much. And by tourists I mean slavers. State-sponsored thugs sent by the Batarian Hegemony to get back at us upstart humans and our Systems Alliance. Only their big revenge plan kinda fell apart.

Which left the after-action reports. Plural. And, apparently, the after-after-action reports and the after-after-after-action reports and the... well, you get the idea. Brass seems rather fond of them, judging by all the accounts I had to give. And all the meetings and hearings I had to attend. I kid you not: I've met more admirals and generals in the last twenty days that I had in the last twenty years—and considering I spent my life flitting from starship to space station, that's saying something.

Sadly, I could have done without the privilege. Had the latest hearing this morning. Everyone introduced themselves, just like all the other times. Then they asked me to go through my sitrep again, just like all the other times.

"When the batarians secured the spaceport, you fled the scene rather than stand your ground and fight, isn't that right, Lieutenant Shepard?"

Then they began grilling me, just like all the other times. I leaned towards the microphone and repeated the exact response I'd given the last six times this question came up. "No, sir, I made a judgment call based on my tactical evaluation of the situation."

The latest grizzled general—this one notably fatter than any of his colleagues—scowled at me, a move that was wasted on me by this point. "And your call was to shirk your duty. To disregard your oath of service to the Systems Alliance. Isn't that right, Lieutenant Shepard?"

"No, sir. My call was that I was up against a well-armed hostile force that outnumbered me by several hundred to one. I had no backup whatsoever and was armed with nothing more than a pistol. In light of such overwhelming odds, putting up any kind of immediate resistance would be counterproductive. The best course of action was to find allies, weapons and equipment so I could organize a more effective response."

"Well, I wouldn't consider your response very effective," an admiral frowned. "If it wasn't for the arrival of our ships, Elysium would have been lost."

"Sir, it was because we were able to consolidate our forces and establish a stand that we were able to send out a distress call. The same distress call that your ships picked up."

"Perhaps you're right. Let's go over this again, Lieutenant Shepard. From the beginning."

Oh for crying out loud!

That was one of the many delights I got to look forward to. Me and no one else. I mean, as far as I could tell, I was the only one they pestered. What happened, they would ask? Why didn't you do something sooner? Why didn't you put the pieces together? How did you know you were under attack? Why did you do this instead of that? Why did you turn left instead of right? What happened next? And so on and so forth.

And when the brass wasn't pestering me with accusations, they were pestering me with salutes, enthusiastic handshakes, backslapping and big, fake smiles. I know. Makes a guy's head spin. Guess the Alliance wanted to make sure they had covered their asses in pretending they had done everything they could do to avert this potential tragedy before showering me with glory.

Or maybe they saw the politicians coming and knew what that meant. Different heights, different faces, same agendas. Same big smiles. Same vapid speeches. Same handshakes. Same poses for the vid-cams. But hey, all those politicians thought I was the golden child, so maybe they should do the same too.

The accolades did have the occasional perk, though. It meant some of the more redundant hearings and reviews could be cut short. Just like that last hearing. I was in the middle of yet another explanation when I was interrupted: "Which one of you fellas is Lieutenant Shepard?"

"That would be me, sir," I identified myself, turning around to the elderly man who'd just entered the room.

"Senator Cooper," he identified himself, "Systems Alliance Parliament."

I stood up and shook his hand. Onto the next step in this dance. Wait for it...

"When I heard about what you did on Elysium, I just had to come over here and personally commend you for the fine work you did here. An attack on humanity's oldest colony in the Skyllian Verge could've been a calamity of unfathomable proportions. From what I hear, you saved thousands of lives. Elysium and the Alliance owe you a great debt, Lieutenant."

Never mind that the senator was a couple weeks late. Okay, maybe a week and a bit late, given travel time from Arcturus Station or wherever the hell he'd come from. "Just doing my job, sir," I replied. "As were the men and women who fought beside me."

"'Just doing my job,' he says. I like that. I really do. Well, son, you did a hell of a job. We need more men like you, fighting for humanity's freedom and security." Cooper extended his hand. Of course I had to shake it. Of course there were lots of vid-cams and reporters behind the senator. Of course I was temporarily blinded by all the flashes.

That's another trend I'd noticed. Everyone tended to blame or congratulate me. Me and me alone. As the lone thick-headed grunt that'd singlehandedly dropped the ball and almost lost humanity's oldest colony in what the media had dubbed 'The Battle of Elysium.' Or as the valiant hero who'd singlehandedly stopped those damn batarians during what some quick-thinking reporter had called 'The Skyllian Blitz.' Because the soldiers and civvies who had the poor luck to be stuck with me? The _other _men and women 'fighting for humanity's freedom and security'? Apparently they don't count. At least, not in the eyes of the brass.

Or the reporters, for that matter. They keep hounding me for an exclusive interview. Or at the very least, asking 'just a few questions.' If by that, they meant asking the same questions, even if they didn't know what they were talking about.

Take this exchange: "When you launched your attack, I understand you split your forces in two to attack the slavers in a... a sort of claw-like fashion?"

"You mean a pincer maneuver," I corrected. "And no, I didn't."

"Oh. You mean one of your groups was intended as a diversion?"

"No, I mean one of my groups was intended to draw out the slavers from their fortifications and into a carefully prepared area, where the rest of my forces was waiting."

"Ah. Right. So you could hit them in a... sideways maneuver?"

"Flanking maneuver. And that was part of it. The main intent was to funnel them into a tightly packed area where they wouldn't be able to move around very well or bring their weapons to bear. From there, it was easy for us to strike from the windows around and above them."

"I see. Now I have to ask, why didn't you do all those things together?"

"What do you mean?"

"The pincer thing and the diversion and the flanking. Why didn't you do all those things together?"

"Three reasons," I replied, stifling a long-suffering sigh. "First, I didn't have enough men and women. Second, many of my troops were untrained civilians, who would have difficulty in executing such a complex series of orders. Third, trying all of those maneuvers at once would generally be counterproductive. At best, it's a waste of time. At worst, it would be suicide."

"Oh... I see... next question."

Naturally. There's _always_ another question.

Generally, knowledge of what they were talking about or accuracy in general wasn't high on their list of priorities—okay, that's not true. Most of them were professional. But there were an awful lot of them that seemed more interested in sounding important, being seen talking to me and trying to get my contact info for a date. Yeah, that's right. A _date_. I'm not sure who was more obvious, the blonde who kept showing me her cleavage or the man who was trying to live down to every gay stereotype in the book. It's also possible that the hanar reporter was asking me out as well. Hard to say, given how he talked in the third person and insisted on yakking about the Protheans—sorry, the _Enkindlers_. Yeesh.

Unlike the various celebrities, who had no professionalism to speak of. Before Elysium, I occasionally read about them in the news. New movie here, latest outrage there. But now? Now every one of them wanted to be my friend. Just a bunch of self-absorbed, entitled—

* * *

><p>"—narcissistic idiots," I finished.<p>

Ellie's face stared at me from the screen of my computer. _"So... rough day, huh?"_

I had to stop and think. "Guess I had a lot to get off my plate," I admitted.

"_Gee. Ya think?"_

"Sorry," I said, giving her a sheepish grin.

"_Oh, don't be. You had to vent before you exploded." _

Good ol' Ellie. She always was the kindest, most considerate and all-around best sister a grunt like me could ever have. Well, spiritual sister: we weren't related or anything. But Eleanor Faye Bartowski and I had grown up together. Our families had gone from starship to space station together throughout our childhood—a deliberate move on the part of our mothers, who wanted to make sure their kids had one constant growing up. For which we were eternally grateful.

Some might've thought that we might've hooked up or something. You know, childhood sweethearts and all that. The topic's certainly come up. To which Ellie and I would immediately respond _"EW!" _ The thought was just... unthinkable. Ellie was my big sister. I was her little brother. That was that. End of story. Not bestest buddies, not BFFs—Ellie would never say that. See above, under kindest and most considerate. We were siblings, in all the ways that really mattered.

"So," I said, looking back at my sister's face on the computer screen. "What's new with you?"

"_Just finished a double shift because of a scheduling screw-up of colossal proportions."_

"Define 'colossal'," I requested.

"_There were no doctors, nurses or techs scheduled in Emergency for the graveyard shift."_

I stared at her in disbelief. "At _all_?"

"_That's right."_

"How the hell does _that_ happen?" I sputtered.

"_The hospital VI tried to auto-assign some shifts. The senior attending physician—who everyone thinks is a Luddite—tried to override the VI and make up the schedule herself. Signals got crossed, programs crashed and when the dust settled... nada."_

"So you're saying that the VI said one thing, the doc said another, the two opposing forces were brought together and cancelled each other out?" I summarized. "Resulting in... nobody being assigned at all?"

"_Pretty much."_

"How is this possible?"

"_Well... it's not the first time." _

"It's not?!"

"_Nope. But it is the first time things got screwed up this badly."_

I stared at her in stunned disbelief. Despite all the crap I'd had to deal with, this kinda put things in perspective. "Huh."

"_Yeah. Pretty much."_

"That's... ridiculous."

"_You can say that again—and no, that wasn't an invitation."_

"So... makes you glad that we've got some time off coming up?"

"_Oh _God_, yes."_

I should explain.

Ellie had some vacation days that she needed to use up. And I had some personal leave owed to me—quite a bit, actually. So we got to talking, coordinated our schedules and decided to go visit Earth. It had been ages since either of us had dropped by.

"By the way, I looked up that restaurant we visited the last time we were in Vancouver. You know, the one with the really good steak? It's still in business. They're celebrating their 50th year anniversary. Which means special deals and discounts on _everything_!"

"Great!" I enthused. "And after that, we can go to the bubble tea shop down the street. I just discovered a new flavor that you _have _to try out: taro root milk tea with coconut jelly."

"Taro root?"

I ignored the dubious tone in her voice. "With coconut jelly," I nodded. "Trust me, you'll love it."

"If you say so." Ellie still looked a little skeptical, but she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. "Hey, Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I know all this attention has been driving you up the wall. I know you never asked for it—_any _of it. But I was reading this smutty gossip rag on the extranet—don't judge—and... well..."

"You wanna know if I met Aishwarya Ashland," I sighed. I'd read the same smutty gossip rag myself. Don't judge: I had to pass the time somehow while waiting for the brass, politicians, reporters and celebrities to show up.

"I'm sorry. You probably don't want to talk about it. Forget I asked. Um... well... how's the weather over there?"

"Obvious, much?"

"Well..."

"It's fine," I relented. It's not like I could be mad at her for long. "Yes, I did.

"_And_?"

"She did get some elective gene enhancements."

"I _knew _it!"

* * *

><p>Ellie was right. I <em>had <em>had a rough day. A rough couple of weeks, in fact. But all it took was a simple chat with her to make things better again.

"Yoohoo! Lieutenant Shepard!"

And all it took were three words from my least favourite person on Elysium to ruin it all over again. Closing my eyes in resignation, I sighed heavily. Took a deep breath. Then I turned around with my eyes open and a bright smile—borne of long practice—on my face. "Ms. Grodin."

"Oh, Lieutenant," she laughed. "I've told you before. Call me Lori."

Lori Grodin. PR whiz with a business degree in making my life a living hell. Appointed by some REMF to schedule my life; day after day, week after week. Every hearing with some brass with an axe to grind. Every photo op with a politician or celebutante. Every interview with a half-witted reporter. Believe it or not, none of these guys bothered me. Even with everything they put me through. Despite their blatant, self-serving agendas or painfully oblivious naiveté. At least, not compared to 'Call me Lori' Grodin.

Naturally, none of that mattered. "Lori, what can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to bring you tomorrow's itinerary."

She'd been bringing me 'tomorrow's itinerary' for the past couple weeks now. I'd grown to dread her arrival. And her perpetually cheerful voice. Not for the first time, I entertained the notion of taking a sample from her for a drug test. Even a scan would do in a pinch. If she did test positive, it would explain a lot. More importantly, it would get her out of my hair.

But, like all the other times, I reached out and took the datapad that was offered to me like a good, obedient grunt. To my surprise, there were no hearings. Or interviews. There must be a catch, I thought. There was _always _a catch.

The catch, no doubt, had something to do with the one and only item on tomorrow's itinerary: 'Central Square—1000,' it read. "This seems a bit shorter than usual," I observed.

"Well, it _is _the last day before you leave Elysium."

I KNOW! HALLE-FREAKING-LUJAH! "I noticed." I said with considerably more poise.

"We saved the best event for last. I think you're gonna love it!"

That's what she said about every interview and photo op with every politician and celebutante in the galaxy.

"Right this way, Lieutenant Shepard."

She led me to a ridiculously huge warehouse. You could fit a spaceship in it, it was so big. I later found out it used to be a hangar. Which explained why it was holding a very, very large... something. With some trepidation, I followed Lori into an elevator that took us up to an overhead catwalk. The better to see the monstrosity that lay before me.

It was a larger-than-life statue of a man, dressed in a standard-issue Alliance hardsuit. An N7 logo was prominently emblazoned on his chest. And the face...

...

...well, the face was very familiar. "Lori..." I said slowly. "That guy kinda looks like me."

"That's because it _is _you! Isn't it great?"

Great would not be the first word that came to mind. "Lori, you wanna tell me why there is a giant statue of me lying on his back, looking like he wants to kill me?"

"He's not going to kill you, silly. Unless you're a no-good, rotten batarian slaver. That's the point! This statue will commemorate the day where you protected the crowning jewel of the Alliance against the ravenous onslaught of slavers and the Hegemony. It will stand proudly as a testament to human courage and tenacity!"

Kill me now.

I moved a few feet to the left. Then back. Then a few feet to the right. "Wherever I go, his eyes keep... following me."

"I know! Isn't it great?"

"It's _creepy_."

"Oh, Lieutenant!" Lori laughed. "You're so funny! Don't worry, you'll come around. They all will."

It figured that this goddamn statue was going to be revealed to the masses on April Fool's Day. The galaxy had already decided that I was gonna be its personal bitch. Its fool to prance around and provide an endless source of entertainment and amusement.

But there comes a point when a man's gotta put his foot down—one way or another. Either that, or go flat-out insane. And while the jury was still out on whether I was certifiable, I felt like clinging to the last vestiges of my optimism. Like a drowning man clinging to a torn life preserver.

"So... when are you going to drag this—I stopped myself from saying 'garish over-sized monstrosity' just in the nick of time—thing out of storage?"

"7 o'clock tomorrow. We want plenty of time to move the statue to Central Square in time for the grand unveiling. Three hours should be enough, don't you think?"

0700. All right, then. I had until 0700 to correct this looming disaster.

No pressure, Shepard.

* * *

><p>Of course, there was pressure. Who was I kidding? I had to do something about that thing.<p>

Maybe I could shoot it to pieces. Surely the damn statue would fall apart if I hit it with enough bullets. Sure, the gun would overheat long before that happened, but that's why you carried a spare. Or two. Or ten. Or fifty. And boy would it be satisfying.

But that would take forever. Explosives would be faster. And probably more effective. Yeah, it would attract a lot of attention, but so would shooting a statue in smithereens. Not to mention it would satisfy that primal, visceral need to blow shit up.

Or maybe I had to think outside the box. Elysium was a fairly large colony. It had a sprawling infrastructure of prefab buildings and its own spaceport. Which meant it had some kind of industrial capacity. Maybe I could find something I could use to melt the statue down. Like acid. While I was at it, maybe I could also find some industrial-grade bleach to get the image of that thing out of my head.

But that would make a mess. Which would be bad. Elysium had been through enough. Its people had more than enough to clean up as it was. Maybe there was another way. Maybe I could convert the whole thing into omni-gel instead. A statue that big could churn out a whackload of the stuff. And Elysium could use that to make... I dunno. Whatever they needed to pick themselves up. Yeah. Yeah, that might work.

Of course, I'd need some help to convert the statue to omni-gel. The sucker was pretty damn big, after all. I couldn't use my omni-tool to do the job. Poor thing would probably have a nervous breakdown. Or explode. Both would be bad.

So I would need to get an honest-to-gosh fabricator.

It didn't take me long to find one. All I had to do was ask for directions. Everyone was so eager and willing to help The Hero of Elysium.

Except for the guy I was directed to. Though it really wasn't his fault. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Shepard. I'm afraid we only have a couple fabricators left, and they're all in use. The slavers caused a lot of damage, you know."

"And what's that?" I asked, pointing to the bulky box-like thing he was tinkering with when I arrived.

"Damaged fabricator," he replied. "Power surge fried several circuit boards. I was just repairing it so we can print some commemorative memorabilia.

"Print some commemorative memorabilia?"

"Yeah. Pins. Plates. Tiny bobble-head statues. That kind of thing."

Oh God.

Just then, the door hissed open. "Hey, Tara!"

"Frank!"

The two civvies hugged. And kissed. For a while. It got kinda awkward, so I turned away to give the lovebirds some privacy. Eventually they came up for air.

That was when they spotted me. "Oh!" Tara's cheeks blushed. "Sorry."

"That's okay," I smiled.

Tara's eyes widened. Aw, crap. "You're… you're Lieutenant Shepard!" she gasped.

Here we go again. "So they keep telling me," I sighed.

"I… it… it's an honour to meet you."

It always is. You have no idea how many times I'd heard that in the last couple weeks. Mind you, she seemed earnest and sincere. Both of them did, as a matter of fact. There wasn't any axe to grind or ulterior motive behind the awed looks and glows of adoration. Just simple, honest admiration. I'd almost forgotten what that looked like.

"Thank you so much for saving us. All of us," she continued. "Now we can get back to keeping our business afloat."

"It was my pleasure," I smiled. "And you are Frank and Tara, I assume?"

They looked at each other. "He knows our names," Frank whispered.

"I know," Tara whispered back. "How does he know our names?"

"You said them out loud when you greeted each other," I whispered.

They looked at each other sheepishly. "Oh. Right."

"Wait a sec," I frowned. "What did you mean by 'keeping our business afloat'?"

"End of the fiscal year and we're in debt," Tara shrugged. "Not much demand for repairing old equipment these days when you can just fabricate or buy new ones. People just don't cherish the past like they used to. No room for nostalgia or sentiment when you're busy chasing the latest new thing, I guess. Up until a month ago, we were looking at closing shop."

"And then the slavers attacked," Frank said. "A lot of things have been damaged. And with only a couple fabricators intact, the colony leaders have to prioritize what to build or replace. Which means everything else will have to be repaired."

"Which means you might be able to stay in business a while longer," I concluded.

"Well, yeah, but it's more than that," Tara insisted. "Life on a colony is hard. Trying to get up and running, become self-sufficient, maybe even figuring out a way to establish trade routes. Never mind endure random attacks from slavers and other criminals.

"And we have to do that all on our own. No one's gonna help us out. Maybe the Alliance, if they take a moment from setting up as many colonies as they can to remember we even exist. But the other races? They're too busy looking down on us as the new kids on the block, galactically speaking. Waiting for us to slip up. Laughing at us every step of the way. It's hard to keep your head up, you know? More and more, it felt like this beautiful world of ours was just a gilded cage. A pretty prison that would become our tomb. There were a lot of people depressed, let me tell you."

"But then you came along. Inspired us. Motivated us to keep fighting. Keep working. To persevere no matter how bleak the situation looked. You were literally a beacon of hope for us when we thought all was lost."

"After that, you might've thought we'd go back to the way things were," Frank continued. "But we didn't. We saw you all the time. In the vids. Over the comm systems. Walking amongst us in person. And every time we saw or heard you, we remembered. We remembered how we were still alive."

"It wasn't just me," I said, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Everyone did their part. Even you."

"But it never felt like it mattered before," Tara insisted. "No one seemed to notice. Or care. Thanks to you, that all changed. People know the name Elysium now. They know our colony exists. That _we _exist. It might not seem like much to you, but to us? To us, it means everything.

"Now there's so much energy and spirit and _life _here. Like someone opened a door and let a gust of fresh air in to blow out the cobwebs. And maybe a little of that was because you stood here alongside us and helped us when we needed it the most. When no one else bothered to lend a hand."

Oh. Um. Gee. Now I felt bad. See, at the time, I wasn't intending to lend a hand at all. I was mainly concerned with saving my own ass. It was just sheer bad luck and a piss-poor sense of direction that prevented me from getting to the spaceport on time. When the last transport left and I was stranded on Elysium with a gazillion hostile slavers, the only thing left to do was fight. And since I couldn't do it on my own—propaganda be damned—I had to enlist the locals and whatever Alliance soldiers shared my poor luck to help me out. Which meant the occasional speech or two. All for one and one for all, right?

Guess I never stopped to realize how _they _would interpret that. Naturally no one realized I was trying to keep my head on my shoulders. They thought I did it because I was some kind of… of hero. My God, they actually _bought _all the crap the media and politicians were selling them. They were staring at me with so much awe and gratitude.

Part of me wanted to grab them by the shoulders, shake them really hard and ask them what the hell was wrong with them. Why they didn't understand what really happened out there—that all this came about because I couldn't get off this rock in time and was just trying to save my own skin. I wished I could see myself through their eyes and understand what they saw in Charles Irving Shepard.

All I knew was that I had had a rough couple of weeks. But they had had a rough couple of months. Maybe even years. Kinda hard to complain when you thought about what they'd been through.

I'm sure I would've made some more discoveries, most of which would undoubtedly cast a disparaging light on my character, if it wasn't for the trumpet noise that blared from the fabricator. Frank scurried over to the console and examined the readings. "I've got it!"

"Is it contagious?" Tara teased.

"Funny," Frank deadpanned. "No, I mean I fixed the fabricator. Calibrations are all in the green. We're good to go. Now all we have to do is bring this to—let's see, where did they need this? Oh. Right. Warehouse 38."

"Why don't I take care of that?" I offered.

The thought hadn't occurred to either of the two civvies, judging by the shocked looks they gave me. "Oh, but I..." Frank started.

"That's kind of you, but..." Tara put in.

"You must have a lot of..."

"We couldn't possibly..."

I quickly intervened before things got really awkward. "Look, you clearly have a lot of work to get through." Which wasn't a lie—the room was packed with equipment of all shapes and sizes, in various states of disrepair. "And unless you're planning to burn the midnight oil, you don't have time to waste on things like lugging fabricators halfway across the colony."

Frank opened his mouth. "Well, actually, it's only—"

"Besides, it's not as if I'm doing anything right now."

"That may be, but—" Tara tried.

"Seriously, I've got nothing to do right now. You'd be doing me a favour."

They looked at each other again. "Well... I guess..." Frank said.

"If it's no trouble..." Tara chimed in.

"It's not," I insisted. "Really."

"Well, then," Tara nodded. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>Well, this changed things.<p>

My discovery that maybe people needed something to celebrate—even though I still really, really, really wished it was something other than surviving a slaver attack and drowning me in praise—meant that my plan of destroying that God-awful statue was a no-go. I'd have to bite the bullet on that one.

Yep, I'd have to endure getting trotted out yet again like some prize pig. Big, bright smile firmly screwed on, well past the point where my cheeks started screaming in frozen agony. Eardrums shattered for the umpteenth time from all the cheering and screaming and 'Shepard, I wanna have your babies!' Over-enthusiastic civvies clapping me on the back and shoulders, thereby exacerbating the bruises I'd gotten.

Then that goddamn statue would be wheeled out. Then the cheering and screaming and grandstanding would _really _kick into high gear! It was gonna be a frickin' circus on Elysium; with my ugly mug the star attraction! Both of them!

And the worst part was that there was nothing I could do! Apparently people looked up on me! Needed to be reminded of my exploits—or, at least, given a heavily redacted and creatively edited version—to bring them hope and happiness and good cheer. Oh if only they knew the truth. But sometimes, the truth wasn't good enough. Sometimes, people needed more.

So I'd just have to suffer through this hell because that's what a good little 'hero' does...

...

...then again, maybe there was something I could do.

With a sudden jerk, I came to a stop and let the ol' hamster wheels spin away. I had just come up with an idea. It still involved the aforementioned God-awful statue, but there would be considerably less destruction. All I needed was a fabricator. The one that Frank and Tara thought I was taking to Warehouse 38—wherever that was. The one that everyone else thought was busted.

Oh. Right. I also needed some raw materials for the fabricator to convert.

One thing about a colony is that there are _always _loads of crates lying around. Seriously, if I wasn't in the Alliance, I could easily make a living as a self-employed crate supplier. So I grabbed a crate and shoved it into the fabricator. A few commands here, a couple buttons there and—Presto! Change-o! I looked in satisfaction at the sheer amount of crap that came out the other end.

Then I remembered how large the statue was.

Maybe I'd need the other fabricators after all.

* * *

><p>I won't bore you with the details on how I liberatedborrowed/confiscated/stole the other fabricators. Suffice it to say it involved a whole lot of waiting, which would be ridiculously boring to anyone who wasn't trained as a sniper.

I also won't bore you with how I got all the omni-gel I needed. Suffice it to say it involved a continual cycle of searching for crates, lugging said crates to the closest fabricator—which was pre-programmed to churn out the product I had in mind—and making sure the fabricator was tipped so all that product went where I wanted it to go. That, and rotating between fabricators for the sake of efficiency.

And I definitely won't bore you about how I frantically had to return all the fabricators before anyone noticed they were missing.

In the end, I successfully completed my entirely-voluntary mission. All it took was a lot of running around, a lot of lifting, a last-minute scramble to return the fabricators before anyone noticed they were missing and far too little sleep.

"Wakey, wakey! Up and at 'em, soldier!"

Oh, trust me, Lori. I was awake. Stupid internal body clock.

"Rise and shine!" Lori's voice blasted through the door.

Like I said, I had had far too little sleep. So I could be forgiven for not being my usual chatty self. "Hi," was all I said when I got to the door.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Shepard! Isn't it a beautiful day?"

Let's face it. Right now, anything other than monosyllabic grunts was a borderline miracle. "Uh huh."

"I can't think of a better way to send you off to whatever your next assignment is, can you?"

"Uh, uh."

I'd considered coffee, but nixed the idea. Not exactly a regular coffee-drinker. If I started now, I'd probably be bouncing off the walls. Or doing the potty dance every hour. So I decided to tough it out.

"Come on. Time for your big moment!"

"Yeah."

"Oh, Lieutenant. You can do better than that!"

Drug screen. Had to get a sample for a drug screen. _Had _to. "We should probably get to the warehouse," I said instead.

Lori yammered away during the entire walk. Something about straight backs and big smiles and speeches and all the people I had to meet and shake hands with—again. Hoo. Ray. Kill me now.

But as we got closer, and I started waking up, I had to remind myself not to smile. Don't smile, Chuck. Don't give it away. Keep it cool. Pretend you don't know what's happening. Be one with the poker face. All calm and innocent and unknowing until—"

"What the hell?"

Lori stopped and stared. Taking her cue, I did the same. Couldn't blame her, really. If I hadn't done it, I'd be quite shocked at the sight of a warehouse—walls, doors and windows—completely gift-wrapped.

"What... what's this?"

"I think it's wrapping paper," I supplied helpfully.

"But..." Lori trailed off and stared at me, then stared back at the gift-wrapped warehouse. "Who would do this?"

"Beats me," I lied. "But you gotta admit it's a pretty good job."

Lori just stared at me in disbelief, then walked up to the warehouse and ripped off a handful of wrapping paper. She stared at the blank wall that was revealed. Then she took a step to the side and ripped some more wrapping paper. More blank wall. Another step. Two handfuls of paper ripped away. Two more pieces of blank wall.

This went on for a good minute before she finally found the door control. She ripped off all the paper covering it, then proceeded to tear away all the paper covering the doors. Which, considering how tall the doors were, took a while. Being the oblivious grunt that I was, I helped her out. Even lugged over a couple crates so she could stand up and clear off all the paper. At last, the doors were uncovered. She activated the door control and moved in front of the doors, hands placed firmly on her hips. The doors opened...

...and Lori Grodin was promptly buried in an avalanche of plastic baubles.

Now keep in mind that I was still playing the innocent, so I couldn't exactly laugh out loud. I might've grinned from ear to ear though.

By the time Lori had emerged from the pile, I had recovered my composure. "Wow," was all I said.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" Lori screeched.

I shuffled towards the doors, gingerly put one foot into the pile and peered inside. "Well..." I said at last, "If I had to guess, I'd say someone filled the warehouse with plastic balls."

Lori stared at me, her eyes bulging out. "The entire warehouse?"

"Looks like."

"But that means the statue is..."

"Buried," I finished. And hopefully it would stay that way.

* * *

><p>Who was I kidding? Of course it didn't stay that way. The veritable ocean of plastic baubles—each in an obnoxiously bright neon colour, just because I needed some light at the time—was emptied. The statue was unearthed, gradually and inexorably. And, to my mild surprise, it was moved to Central Square more or less on time.<p>

So I endured another day of speeches. Another day of cheers and celebration. Another day where tales of my exploits were told over and over again, each retelling more exaggerated than the one before. Another day of interviews, handshakes and never-ending pictures of my exaggerated exploits. Another day of smiling non-stop.

Only this time, my cheeks didn't seem to hurt quite so much. Maybe it had something to do with knowing who was benefiting—really benefiting—from all this crap. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I had gotten my own small, admittedly petty, revenge.

Maybe it was both.


End file.
